by Robin Crumby
“You know, if it was one of my guys over there, I wouldn’t hesitate. Believe me, I understand how you’re feeling. I’ve been in your shoes before.”
Jones threw his hands in the air. “What do I know? Don’t make me regret this, okay? Let’s go before I change my mind.”
They collected all spare ammunition from the wounded team members and reloaded the R.I.Bs ready to leave. As Zed climbed aboard, one of the men walked them back into the surf, holding them steady until they lowered the outboards into the water and started the engines. The remaining two climbed in and they reversed off the beach back towards the castle one last time.
***
Back on Hurst spit, Jack was kneeling painfully on the shingle looking out to sea, staying hidden from view. Where the hell was the Nipper?
It had been tied up earlier that day which meant that someone must have cut the mooring lines. It was nearly high tide and still flowing eastwards. If she had been cut loose in the last two or three hours, she couldn’t have drifted far. With any luck, she would have been blown along the shingle towards Keyhaven and become grounded on one of the mudflats.
He scanned the darkness with his binoculars. There was something. A shape in the water not one hundred meters away from the shore, back towards Keyhaven. He nudged Sam and pointed towards it, passing him the binoculars.
“That’s got to be the Nipper, right? What else could it be?”
“It’s her alright Jack. Reckon I could swim over and bring her back, pick you lot up. What do you think?”
“Take Will with you, he’s a strong swimmer. Don’t go alone in case you get into difficulties. I’ll stay here with the rest of them. Wait for you?”
Sam stood and kicked off his boots. In five seconds flat, he had removed his bulky clothing, stripping to a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Will did the same and together they hobbled down the beach across the sharp stones and shingle towards the water’s edge. Lowering themselves gingerly into the water as silently as possible, they set off towards the Nipper, keeping their heads above water.
Jack watched them swim slowly almost parallel to the beach, heading towards deeper water. The current sweeping past the end of the shingle should help push them closer.
He looked at his watch. Its digital display glowed in the darkness. It was past three in the morning. He reckoned it would take them five minutes to swim there, a further five to get her ready and perhaps another five to get back. In the meantime, they had to hope that they could stay hidden and undiscovered.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Zed kept low to avoid the spray as the assault craft powered back the short distance towards Hurst spit. Jones was scanning the castle and surrounding water with his night vision goggles. They slowed again as they were halfway across the narrow channel that ran between the island up towards the Needles rocks.
Jones’s hand went up and the helm slowed the engine in response. They all looked in the direction he was pointing, at the outline of a boat in the distance. Zed had discarded his helmet when he had been hit by the stray round during their rescue of Riley. He tapped Jones on the arm, eager to know what he was drawing attention to. Without looking round Jones fished into his breast pocket and removed a spare night-vision scope. Zed grabbed it firmly, squinting through it with one eye, until the castle came into focus.
To the right of the spit, beyond the eastern extent of the castle and the lighthouse towering over it, he saw a fishing boat drifting in the current towards Keyhaven.
“Once you’ve found the boat, check out the two men in the water.”
Zed took a moment to locate two swimmers splashing towards their intended target. One of them was powering through the water, his head submerged, while the other trailed behind doing what looked like breast-stroke.
“Can we pick them up?”
“They’ll make it to the fishing boat before we get near them.”
“So, where are the rest of them?”
“There,” he said pointing at two shapes sheltering near the castle walls, keeping out of sight. “Looks like they’re going to try and take the boat in and pick up the others.”
“They’ll never make it. They’ll hear the fishing boat coming long before they get close.”
“Then we’ll have to help them. If we can get in close, we can pick them up ourselves. The question is, where are the rest of them? There should be more.”
***
It was taking too long. Perhaps the tide had changed or it was slack water by now which meant the swimmers’ progress towards the Nipper was taking longer than expected. The sea temperature would likely be several degrees above freezing. In another few minutes, the body temperatures of the swimmers could crash and leave them disoriented or even incapacitated.
Back towards the castle complex, they could hear voices outside the gate. If they mounted a search in this direction, they would be quickly discovered. There was nowhere to hide except right here in the shadows. Jack took a chance and raced beyond the castle walls towards the site of a World War II gun emplacement with a low wall and hiding places beneath. The others followed him over, within a stone’s throw of the East dock.
Just as the last man hurried towards Jack, a powerful searchlight swept across the base of the castle walls, scouring the shingle, flashing above the heads of the larger group still hiding in the ditch. It lingered around the cluster of buildings nearest the lighthouse, trying to locate them. From the seaward side of the castle they could see torchlights dancing across the water, footsteps in the darkness. In a few more minutes, they would be caught in a pincer movement. One way or the other, they would be discovered.
Jack ran back to the others and panted breathlessly: “We have to go now. Dump anything bulky and make a run for the water’s edge. Don’t wait for me, start swimming.”
“What about you Jack?” asked Scottie concerned.
“I was never much of a swimmer. I’ll create a distraction.”
“No Jack, you’ve got to at least try. It’s not that far, we’ll help you.”
Jack swallowed hard. Scottie was right, he had to try to get away. The prospect of capture was far worse than drowning or hypothermia.
“Come on then. We’ll stay together.”
They tore off their outer clothing and heavy boots. One by one, the group ran forward, staying low, keeping as quiet as possible.
Jack waded into the water up to his waist and the cold took his breath away. As the others continued down the steep shelving beach up to their chests, he watched them push off and start swimming. Jack lingered, taking a moment to adjust to the temperature, feeling the freezing stones slip beneath his bare feet. For a man who had spent his life at sea, he had always hated swimming. He only learned to swim at the age of twelve.
Torchlight behind them zeroed in on the noises at the water’s edge as Copper’s men ran up the beach towards them.
Jack flung himself forward into the water, submerging his head for a moment before resurfacing, spluttering. He swam as best he could, but was quickly out of his depth floundering for a foothold. He struggled to regulate his breathing or keep his head above water, gulping down successive mouthfuls, choking on the seawater. He angled back towards the shingle a few meters further down the beach. He was relieved to find he could stand again.
Jack flung himself forward, half swimming, half walking, his progress laboured. When he broke the surface again, blinking away the salt water, the torchlight zeroed in on him and the water in front of him seemed to erupt with gunfire.
He raised his arms above his head, turning around awkwardly to see how close they were. To his surprise there was a man standing not ten meters away, training his weapon at Jack’s head. The game was up.
***
“Woah!” exclaimed Jones, watching the scene unfolding on the beach, from the R.I.B.
“What just happened?” asked Zed, struggling to see anything with the spare night scope he had been handed.
“First we had these two men in the wa
ter swimming for the fishing boat over there. Then looks like the rest of them gave up waiting and went swimming. Next this guy here,” he said pointing, “he just shot up the water nearest the beach and now the last swimmer is getting out again.”
“What about the rest of them? Are they still making for the boat, or heading back?”
“Looks like they’re still swimming, but they’re parallel to the beach so all those bad guys have to do is walk down the shingle and it’ll be a turkey shoot.”
“Get us over there now,” shouted Jones. The helmsman threw the throttle forward and the bow of the R.I.B responded, rising up as they picked up speed, covering the few hundred meters towards where Jack and his team were in the water in about twenty-seconds.
“Give those men some covering fire, Daniels.”
They were too far out and going way too fast for accuracy, but the hail of gunfire tore up the beach. Briggs’ men ducked down, looking around them startled, trying to locate the source of the new threat racing their way. Zed noticed that the swimmers were diving down and swimming under water to confuse the men on the beach.
Another burst from the American’s HK submachine gun scattered Briggs’ men as they dived for cover.
“Get us between the swimmers and the boat,” shouted Jones.
“Sir?”
“Just do it, will you?”
The helm came right in close to the shingle beach, much closer than was sensible in any other circumstances. Jones and the other soldiers raked the beach again with machine gun fire, attempting to keep the attackers’ heads down to prevent them from returning fire.
Zed looked up and saw two half-naked men already on board the fishing boat. One was in the wheelhouse, trying to start the engines, while the other was pulling ropes out of the water so they wouldn’t get tangled up in the propellors. He reached down and tried to help up the next man to arrive at the stern quarter, waving him away from the propellors which were now churning up the water. If they were going to save the men in the water, they had to close the gap and use the fishing boat as a shield.
From behind the assault craft, a volley of shots raked the water, puncturing one of the inflatable panels on their port bow. Zed scanned for targets but Briggs’ men had ducked out of sight and were lying prone on the shingle.
Momentarily, their boat was caught in a cross-fire as Briggs’ men to their right opened up with an automatic weapon. The R.I.B surged forward, jinking left, placing them in harm’s way in between the shooters and the men in the water. They shepherded the last of the men towards the boat. Another burst of fire tore into their boat, the plastic cover of the outboard disintegrated as the engine spluttered and died. Smoke began billowing out of the housing, shrouding them in choking fumes as a small fire broke out. Jones reached down to cut the fuel to the starboard engine before the fire could spread and engulf them.
“We’re losing power.”
“Goddamit, get us out of here. We’re sitting ducks.”
“Look, the fishing boat.”
In the Nipper’s wheelhouse, Zed could see Sam clearly now, gripping the wheel, urging the boat towards them. Their bow swept past them and turned hard right to bring her alongside the crippled assault craft, shielding them from harm.
“Get aboard,” shouted Will, reaching down to grab Jones’s arm, as another burst of fire shattered the windows in the wheelhouse and splintered the fibreglass below.
Zed waited his turn as the others scrambled over the side, up and into the fishing boat. The buoyancy at the back of the R.I.B was compromised, with two or three sections deflated where they had been punctured. At Zed’s feet, he could see black sea water swirling around the bottom of the boat, getting deeper every moment.
The fire in the engine broke through the housing and flames erupted, searing Zed’s good hand gripping the strap nearest him, lighting up the hull of the Nipper as it shadowed them alongside.
Zed reached up and grabbed Will’s soaking wet shirt sleeve, getting a good hold. Will strained to lift him and called Tommy over to help. Between them they hauled Zed over the side until he flopped onto the deck.
Sticking his head within the wheelhouse as his men sprayed the beach in a hail of bullets, Jones shouted: “That’s everyone, get us out of here.”
Zed looked around the shivering faces of the men from Hurst, cowering beneath the gunwale, searching out Jack. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Jack?”
“He was right behind us. He must have turned back,” said Scottie, shaking his head.
“What? And you left him there?”
“He’s not a great swimmer,” sighed Will.
“God help him. There’s nothing more we can do for him now.”
Looking back through the night scope over the stern of the Nipper, Zed thought he could see a half-naked shape being dragged up the beach towards the castle.
“Did you hear, Terra made it back to the castle? She’s alive,” said Will cheerily.
Zed nodded, but something about the timing of her return made him suspicious. He had never trusted that woman.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Terra watched in horror as they dragged the half-naked man through the gates and back within the confines of the castle. His head was bowed in defeat. He seemed barely conscious. His shirt and underwear were soaking wet, almost translucent in the stark light of the torch.
She hurried after them, terrified that this was someone she knew. Copper shone the torch in his face and Terra put her hand to her mouth, recognising Jack’s battered face. He had a large swelling above his right eye where he had been struck, perhaps by the butt of a rifle.
He was barely recognisable from the man she had once known. The man she remembered had seemed younger, more vibrant. He had been a leader, an inspiration to all those who knew him. The person in front of her was a shadow of his former self, half-drowned, vulnerable, and cowering in defeat.
Jack was dumped unceremoniously in a corner of the courtyard, tucking his knees under his chin like a child. His whole body was racked with bouts of shivering. Terra shrank back towards the shadows, ashamed of her part in all this. He had not yet noticed her presence.
The soldier she had seen earlier with three stripes on his arm led a prisoner through the Tudor gate. The captive had his hands secured in front of him with what appeared to be cable ties.
“I take it this is who you came here for,” said the Sergeant, shoving the prisoner towards Briggs.
“Amongst other things,” nodded Briggs. He fished in his pocket for a pocket knife and freed the prisoner’s hands, who began massaging his fingers and rubbing his palms together to get the circulation going again.
“Good to see you again King. It’s been a while.”
“Six months, four days, three hours, give or take.”
The two men embraced heartily, slapping each other’s backs and laughing. King turned his attention to Copper who was looking a little sheepish, like a scolded child.
“Copper, what took you so long?”
“Sorry boss. Took us a bit longer than we expected to get you out. We were trying to organise a prisoner exchange but Jack was having none of it.”
“Well, I haven’t forgiven you lot for leaving me behind in the first place.”
“You didn’t leave us much choice. You’d lost it. You would have got us all killed.”
“Lost it? You’re joking. I was enjoying myself. You really think a moment of exuberance justified mutiny? Six months I’ve been stuck here.”
“Six months is nothing. I did six years. Quit whinging,” joked Briggs, trying to defuse the hostility.
“I only did what I thought was best,” repeated Copper, his voice trailing off weakly.
“I’m sure you did, Copper. We’ll let bygones be bygones, eh? You came back to get me out, that’s the main thing. Better late than never,” said King, inclining his head in conciliation.
Copper nodded, shuffling uneasily under the glare of his former boss.
Briggs was enjoying the drama with a wry smile.
The Sergeant stepped forward, impatient to get back to his men.
“Right, you got what you came here for. As soon as those people have had something to eat, I want them out, am I clear? There’s nothing more for you here.”
“We’ll all be gone by dawn, don’t you worry. I don’t want to stay in this dump a moment longer than we have to.”
The Sergeant was eying Briggs warily as if he didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him. Copper awkwardly extended his hand towards the soldier and the two men shook hands. As the Sergeant headed for the main gate, he stepped aside to make way for Sister Theodora and her entourage as they swept towards Briggs.
There was something totally incongruous to Terra about the Sisters’ being here. The veil of respectability she had leant Briggs’ operation had only ever been paper thin. She studied the other two women who shadowed the formidable presence of the nun. One of them was much younger and wore a papoose slung across her chest, that bulged with the plump body of an infant, arms and legs sticking out of its sides.
The Sister was clearly in a rage about something.
“You assured me that there would be no further loss of life…” she started to say.
“Not you again,” interrupted Briggs, before Victor could open his mouth. “There’s nothing here for you now. It’s time your people moved on, Sister.”
“Victor, you owe me an explanation.”
“Turns out the people you came looking for have already escaped. This is the only one left,” Victor apologised, pointing at Jack’s half-naked shape in the darkness.
“Why was I not told this earlier?”
Briggs mimicked her voice and laughed. “It will be light in a couple of hours. If I was you I’d make sure you’re the first out of here. Lymington’s still five miles away. That dawn ferry to the island won’t wait, you know.”
The Sister refused to engage with Briggs as if he was unworthy of her attention. She addressed her next question to Copper, appealing to his better nature.
