The weakest, most suspect member of his party was Klebrig. He was easily dealt with: Scheusal ordered him to bed, on the sick list, and confined him under lock and key to the stores hut. Sgt. Zotig would take him his meals; such as he felt like eating, in his poorly state. Sgt. Zotig was no problem: a loyal regular soldier who knew the supreme virtue of keeping his mouth shut and obeying orders unquestioningly. The third man was equally amenable: he ridiculed Klebrig's squeamishness and had enjoyed the drama and the butchery. In his eyes, Klebrig was an educated sissy; while he, a petty backstreet criminal before the Army took him, was a real man who wasn't upset by a little bloodshed.
The situation, therefore, was controllable, and all Scheusal really had to worry about was von Trampel's reaction to the delay in reporting and his avoidance of the radio. For he coped with Zdenka, too, by sending Sgt. Zotig with her to fetch her kit from the house where she had billetted herself, and ordering her to bunk in one of the caravans of the radar convoy.
He took Klebrig back to Mojat, also, ostensibly for dental treatment.
"Tell him to pack his kit, and I 'II bring back a replacement," Scheusal told Sgt. Zotig disgustedly. "He's a feeble creature. But warn him that if he says a word about what happened today on Sprat I 'II deny it; and so will you and the other man. And I'll shoot Klebrig personally. I won't bother with the formality of a charge and risk his getting off with a prison sentence, I'll just take him somewhere quiet and put a bullet in him."
"Yes, sir."
It was a morose Klebrig who accompanied Scheusal and Zdenka back to Taf. He had been horrified and sickened by the throwing of the grenades. First one, which was surely enough to kill all five of the men in the dinghy; and then the other, lobbed with deliberation a second later, to burst among the already mangled bodies and dismember them with unnecessary brutality. He had seen the expression of fascinated pleasure on Scheusal's face, as blood and lumps of flesh spattered all of them. He vomited at once and stomach cramp gripped him with the force of a mechanical grab. It was a vile end to an idyllic day and he was revolted by his officer and ashamed of himself for being implicated.
*
von Trampel said sternly "You had better convince me of your case, Scheusal. In principle, I do not tolerate anyone going over the heads of his superiors. If I am not satisfied by your reasons for coming direct to me, I shall instruct the Chief Signals Officer to deal with you severely."
This was plainly a case for giving his Commanding Officer both barrels; straight between the eyes. "I killed an English officer, a sergeant and four R.A.F. Regiment troops yesterday afternoon, on Sprot, sir."
von Trampel's eyes did not waver, but his colour heightened and he pressed his lips hard together, a nerve twitching in his cheek near his sabre scar. In the best traditions of sang froid, he said nothing for ten seconds, then: "Why the devil have you waited until now to report this? Don't you know your duty? And why waste time coming here when you could have used the radio? Consider yourself under open arrest. Now let me hear your explanation for this disgraceful neglect of your duty."
von Trampel listened without comment, his eyes never leaving Scheusal's, until he had finished. "You suspect the woman of giving information to the enemy?"
"Not necessarily, sir. In any case, it doesn't matter how much she may have told them: they'll never pass it on! But it would have been natural for her to talk: she pretends to collaborate with us, but I don't trust any of them."
"Why didn't you report this by signal?"
"For security reasons, sir."
"Meaning?" von Trampel's voice had hardened.
With a half-smile, insinuatingly, Scheusal replied "Security from enemy interception, sir; of course."
After another pause: "I understand." A much longer pause. "You did quite right. I am grateful to you. You may sit down."
"With respect, sir; about Zdenka."
"Yes?"
''She is a useful member of my team. She did a good job on Mojat and on Sprot. I have no evidence that she gave any information to the English officer. Whatever her real sympathies, as long as she is here, on Taf, she is under observation and harmless. I think she is more useful to us at liberty than if she were arrested on suspicion."
von Trampel nodded. "I take your point. I agree."
"Thank you, sir." (And you're going along with my suggestion because I've kept you out of the mire by not sending a signal: you don't have to have the S.S. or the Gestapo on your back if you don't want to.)
von Trampel said nothing for a full minute, then got up, brought two glasses and a bottle of Sarti cognac from a cupboard, poured two tots, pushed one over towards Scheusal, sipped his own drink, and sat down again. "You deserve official recognition for your conduct of the whole affair, of course: your behaviour was intelligent and it deceived the enemy. Anyone who kills six of the enemy single-handed merits a decoration. But I am afraid I shall have to await some other occasion to reward you. I think it would be... undesirable... unwise... to report this episode: even if we omitted to mention the woman's presence, Private Klebrig sounds highly unstable. Even supposing the sergeant and the other man said nothing, I am sure Klebrig would break quickly under questioning." (Once it became known that Zdenka had been in contact with the British, we'd all be for the high jump: whether or not she told them anything, the Gestapo and the S.S. would assume she had; and the buck wouldn't stop until it got to me. I'm not having that. Specially not with my fourth ring in sight.) He emptied his glass and stood up. "Thank you, Scheusal, I appreciate everything you have done and I commend you highly: it shall be noted in my reports on you." They shook hands.
Shortly after Scheusal had left, Stutzer came in to say that work on the generator and engine of U987 was going to continue all night. Meanwhile, Nürnberg was approaching Taf. If U987 were ready for sea in time, she could reach the ship early enough to help beat off an air attack. They left it at that.
*
Word came to Petar as soon as Zdenka returned. He sent one of Maria-Pia's brothers to tell Eva. Two hours later the three of them were in council.
Petar, as always, felt frustrated and almost futile in the company of these two women: he, the man, was the least significant of them all. He knew what his sister had to sacrifice in order to be at the heart of the Germans' secrets, and it made him feel dirty and sick; but the information she obtained was indispensable and far more useful than anything he had ever done for the cause. As for Zdenka, she was not only brilliant but also successful. Only in courage did he have nothing to feel inferior about. But courage was not enough. As he listened first to Zdenka and then to his sister, he began to form a plan that would bring final devastation to the Germans and at least recognition, if not glory, to himself: recognition that he was not merely the arranger, the co-ordinator, while others did the really valuable work, the spying and the finding out of secrets and facts; and still others ran the risk of actually making contact with the British, at sea, and passing them on. Recognition that it was his initiative and daring, his determination, that had urged the British to come and finish things at Taf once and for all. To rid the place of the Germans and let the rest of them live with dignity until the whole war could be ended.
The news about the ship that had already been damaged and was coming to Taf within a few hours, of the U-boat that was here already and would almost certainly be defending it, but at the same time presenting a surfaced target to British bombs and rockets, to the torpedoes and guns of British craft if they could be persuaded to come as far as this: these were incentives he must relay immediately; give the word personally, somehow, if he must.
*
If there were doubts and hesitation at Air Headquarters and at Bardoc about the legitimacy of the attack on the unidentified ship, there were none in the minds of Gp. Capt. Mason, Wg. Cdr. Beale Gr Sqdn. Ldr. Grimes, or, indeed, in the view of Rev. Ianto Parry-Jones.
"It's a blood-dy violation of the most sacred principles of human behaviour, look you," he declared to
the mess at large, waving his glass in a rhetorical gesture. "Even if it does turn out to be a hospital ship, we gave them the benefit of the doubt and checked carefully before attack-king, din' we?"
The stand-by Wellington had been air tested that afternoon, but in the cussed way of inanimate objects had, for no readily explainable reason, developed a magneto drop; which, of course, was not discovered until the captain ran up his engines before moving onto the taxy track. Although the Beaufighters, which had reported that the ship had altered course and could be making for Taf, remained to their prudent limit of endurance, they had to leave their station half an hour before the Wellington took over. In the interim a ME. 109 turned up: evidently the collision factor deterred the enemy from sending more than one fighter to cover so restricted an air space. Which was just as well for the Wellington, which was duly warned to expect just that, approached at 5,000 feet and spotted the Messerschmitt 1,000 feet below. The captain dived on it and the unsuspecting German fighter pilot was despatched by the nose and mid-upper gunners before he was fully aware of what was happening. The rear gunner also got in a burst before the Me. 109 hit the sea.
Wg. Cdr. Beale was in fine fettle. His suspicions had been confirmed. He had no qualms about a mislaid signal turning up: even if it did, the Afrona Wing was technically in the clear. He was not an inhumane man and would not have taken any satisfaction in attacking a genuine hospital ship, however much in the right the wing may have been. In fact, he would have ordered his aircraft only to fire across its bows and sent out a covering force to shadow it. But he believed there never had been any signal and this attempt to pass off the ship's passage as innocent was another piece of chicanery. He felt no particular grudge about this. War was conducted by chicanery and the worst of it was committed by the politicians who created wars in the first place.
The prospect of leading an attack tomorrow morning, particularly one in which he could expect to add to his already impressive score of German fighters destroyed, enlivened him. The news that the Wellington had already shot down a 109 sent him to bed in a happy mood.
On Bardoc the jubilation was rather less evident. The signal from the Wellington was equally well received, but the reality of German fighters over the target was unwelcome. Despite Beale's confidence, the Beaufighter had not been designed to dogfight with Messerschmitts. There would be some cover from Mustangs carrying long range tanks, but the tanks made them clumsy in manoeuvre and once they had been jettisoned the Mustangs did not have enough endurance to give protection for long.
At two-o'clock in the morning the R.A.F. Regiment sentry who was responsible for watching the seaward side of the Bardoc airstrip heard the beat of a motor and, soon after, made out a flurry of phosphorescence some distance offshore. Hurrying down to the water's edge, he peered out to sea and was able to discern a dark silhouette approaching. Running back, he gave the alarm. fit. Lt. Dunn, sleeping fully dressed in the Ops. tent, was the first up, followed by the Regiment corporal and his three other men. Soon after, Anstey, F/Sgt. Tucker and Charlie Teoh were also on the beach, weapons trained on the boat that was now loudly heard. Presently, everyone else had assembled around them.
From a hundred yards off, a woman's voice rang out. Five seconds later, Grummitt, who had been standing back sleepily, had elbowed his way to the front and was wading out towards the siren cry.
"Sounded like a woman! Can't be," two or three of the watchers exclaimed simultaneously. But to Grummit odds even of a hundred-to-one against were worth investigating. By the time the boat reached him he was up to his armpits in the sea.
Zdenka had called again, twice, to identify herself: that she was a friend, a Jugoslav, a partisan fighting the Germans every bit as bitterly as they. That she had a man with her, one of the other partisan leaders. They had come from Taf in a stolen boat.
As Grummitt helped her ashore, somehow allowing a hand to slide over her admirable breasts, Anstey less gallantly demanded, his revolver levelled, "How did you know we were here?"
"Because I met Tom Foster on Sprat, and he told me."
That brought a considerable amount of surprised murmuring.
But Grummitt had a much more important question to ask. He still had his arm around Zdenka's waist, although they had now reached dry land. And she had instinctively put her arm about his shoulders. Although she no longer needed his support - and it was doubtful that she ever had, although she had leaned heavily on him as they waded ashore - she left it there; in fact her fingers had strayed to his ear and were, again instinctively, teasing the lobe gently.
Dr Grummitt, impatient with Fit. Lt. Anstey's military concern with how this gorgeous girl knew the R.A.F. were on Bardoc, asked "Are there any more like you where you come from?"
In the moonlight, Zdenka's smile was dazzling. She tweaked his ear. "What more do you want? I am here, am not I?"
A divine tremor ran through Grummitt, but his little idyll was rudely broken by the insistent Anstey. "What are your names, why are you here, and why did the Germans let you take one of their rubber boats?"
"My name is Zdenka, this is Petar, and we are here to give you very important information. The Germans do not know we have the boat: we stole it many months ago and have kept it hidden for a special... what is the word? Em... emerging?"
"Emergency," Grummit suggested, giving her a little extra hug.
She rolled her eyes at him with a grateful smile. "Yes, emergency." With evident reluctance she disentangled herself from him.
The doctor reminded Anstey of his duty as host and of his own serious doctor-patient relationship with the new arrivals. After all, he was no mere poodle-faker, dammit. "They could do with something to drink," he suggested reprovingly.
"Of course," said Anstey. "Come along." He turned to the cookhouse sergeant: "Hot coffee and rum, sergeant: for everyone."
In the mess tent, Anstey prompted Zdenka: "You met Pilot Officer Foster on Sprot?"
"Yes. But first I must tell you we have very short time here: we must go back to Taf before the Germans find out we have gone."
"Why?" He expressed the instant suspicion of all the officers, gathered around her and Petar.
"Because if not, they will torture our families and kill them.''
The very simplicity of the way in which she said this was convincing and frightening.
She went on "I have come because Petar does not speak English."
Petar nodded and said haltingly "Yes, I no speak English. Understan' a little. No speak."
"I am Doctor of Physics, and I work with the Germans as civilian radar and radio technician. In this way I get much information for partisans. This information we give to British." Stress was playing havoc with her English: she was speaking rapidly and with assurance, but her grammar and syntax were deserting her.
"Yesterday special things happen and we must tell you about this urgent... urgent-ly... We know you are here, because I met Tom... Pilot Officer Foster... so Petar and I come at once."
"You're very brave."
"We hate Germans. I saw Leutnant Scheusal, the officer I am working with, kill Tom and all the others."
She explained about Mojat, the incident on Sprot, the arrival of the U-boat and its probable escorting of the damaged hospital ship during the last few miles of its approach to Taf.
From time to time Petar interrupted in their own language and she interpreted, transmitting his urgency and the details with which he eagerly supplemented her story.
There were no giant intellects- present at this meeting, but everyone believed in Petar and Zdenka and saw the necessity for instant action. Anstey wrote a signal, which Dunn encoded. Within fifteen minutes copies were being handed to Gp. Capt. Mason (who was dreaming about Matron) and Wg. Cdr. Beale (who was dreaming about Buckingham Palace and a bar to his D.S.O.). Ten minutes after that, they, with Grimes, were in the Operations Room and the group captain was talking to Anstey on the R/T, telling him to stand by for a coded signal.
This was re
ceived and decoded within another ten minutes.
All four Beaufighters were to take off from Bardoc immediately and attack the ship. It was hoped that there were no enemy fighters in the area, which was shielded from Afrona's radar coverage, and that the U-boat had not reached it. If the U-boat had arrived there, two aircraft were to attack it and only two to attack the ship.
The crews were all battle-hardened but this was not the kind of message they most enjoyed receiving in the small hours of the morning; particularly after an interrupted night's sleep.
"Take-off in fifteen minutes," Anstey ordered. The signal went to Afrona: Estimated Time of Departure 0335.
"And now you two had better get back to Taf. And good luck," Anstey told Zdenka and Petar.
"I'll see them off," Grummit offered. And, gallantly, he swept Zdenka off her feet and carried her out to the dinghy, where Petar waited a yard or two offshore.
.She rewarded Grummitt with a lingering kiss and from that moment he was dedicated to the intention of getting to Taf himself by any possible means.
Meanwhile, he hurried to join the rest of the detachment in seeing the Beaufighters off. When they had gone he made sure that his Medical Section was fully prepared to receive casualties and the operating equipment was prepared.
Fourteen
The moon still gave good light and the ship was clearly outlined as the four Beaufighters approached. The conditions for an attack were not favourable, and bombing from an altitude of a few thousand feet, after illuminating the target with flares, would have been the much better way; but a determined attack at close range should at least assure enough hits to slow the ship even further or stop her.
My Enemy Came Nigh Page 15
