by Alan Evans
Braddock said, “Saw your wireless reports. You’ve been busy.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Smith.
Braddock only nodded approvingly but that was enough. He set high standards. Now he glanced at Finlayson.
The general took his cue. “You know that Allenby has a tough nut to crack, that he faces an army of equal or greater size, defending entrenched and fortified positions. You may know also that we and the Turks have committed every man we can to the Gaza-Beersheba front; there can be no question of reinforcement by either side.”
He glanced questioningly at Smith, who nodded. He knew the scales were finely balanced.
Finlayson went on, “We’ve received a report from London but it came out of Germany. God knows how, but it’s rated as authentic. The Germans trained their crack Asia Corps at Neuhammer in Silesia. Now they’ve trained another similar force. It’s of brigade strength, some five thousand men and is not to be spread out through the Turkish armies simply to give technical stiffening. It is a unit that will function as a unit, with its own guns and a very high proportion of machine guns. They are all highly-trained, crack troops and because of that and their high fire-power you can treble their numbers when you assess them as a fighting force. The Germans call them the Afrika Legion.”
Finlayson paused. Smith waited, knowing what was coming, feeling the sweat itch on his face. Finlayson said, “The Afrika Legion is on its way, headed for the Gaza-Beersheba line.”
Smith looked now at Braddock. Finlayson had given the explanation but the admiral would give Smith his orders.
Braddock said simply, “Find it. The Afrika Legion is coming from Germany by rail, and will pass through Syria and Palestine the same way. You must find it. If — when — it arrives in this theatre of the war, we must know.”
Smith was on the point of saying, “We’ll try.” But he did not. No marks would be awarded for effort. The Afrika Legion was a killing machine. It could turn the potential victory into a stalemate if not a defeat, the campaign into a long, bloody war of attrition like France and Flanders and the Dardanelles. He said, “Yes, sir.”
Braddock asked, “No questions?”
“No, sir.”
Braddock grunted, stirred uneasily in the chair, then went on. “Colonel Edwards, here, will also be looking for the Legion. He can pass among the Arabs, done it before. You’ll put him ashore south of Jaffa tomorrow night. That will fit in with your other task of escorting Morning Star to Deir el Belah. Take her there and then go on and land Edwards. If her engines aren’t repaired in time, tow her again.”
Finlayson said grimly, “Morning Star is another of my responsibilities.”
Smith glanced at Edwards. The lieutenant-colonel was sprawled in his armchair. He had a hooked nose that only gave added strength to his handsome face. There was a rakish air about him of high self-confidence and his dark eyes stared piercingly. Smith disliked him on sight.
“I’ll find the Legion if it’s there,” Edwards said arrogantly. “Just have to grease a few palms, maybe cut a throat or two but I’ll find it.”
Finlayson snapped, “I want information, not senseless killing!”
Edwards smiled. “All part of the game, sir.”
“It’s not a game!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Edwards but he neither sounded nor appeared contrite. “It’s a war. But it’s a war behind the lines, too, so if the odd throat gets cut you can’t be surprised.”
Finlayson eyed him with open distaste but then a knock came at the door and it opened to show Lieutenant Ackroyd, cap under arm and face without expression as he looked at Smith. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s a boat alongside from Morning Star. Her master and a young lady have come aboard. She says her name is Miss Adeline Brett and that the general will know of her. She insists on speaking to him, sir.”
Smith’s lips tightened. That damned girl! He glanced at Finlayson.
The soldier said evenly, “I’ve heard of the young lady. How does she know of me? But I can spare a few minutes.”
Smith nodded at Ackroyd who turned and beckoned, stood aside and announced in his flat Yorkshire accent, “Captain Jeavons and Miss Brett.”
They entered the cabin, the girl leading the way, dressed in clean white shirt and drill trousers. Jeavons came behind her, snatching off his cap to show sparse grey hair and peering about him uneasily.
Finlayson, standing, indicated his chair. “Miss Brett. I am General Finlayson.”
Adeline Brett sat in the chair stiffly upright, hands on its arms, and said as stiffly, “I believe you hold the responsibility for the ordering of the Morning Star.”
Finlayson nodded. “That is correct. But how did you —?”
The girl broke in impatiently, “When a general comes out here before dawn it’s a reasonable assumption that he has authority. I watched you come aboard through glasses.”
“I see,” Finlayson said dryly. He nodded towards Smith and the others. “This is Commander Smith’s ship and his cabin, but if you wish to speak privately I’m sure he will —”
“That isn’t necessary.” The girl shook her blonde head. “I’m glad Commander Smith is present because he will be able to verify some of the things I have to say about the conditions aboard Morning Star. May I go on?” And when Finlayson nodded she told him about those conditions, the heat, the crowding, the barbed wire and the bad food. She paused to glance at Smith for confirmation. When he nodded impassively she finished, “Those men are held prisoner although no charge has been brought against a single one of them. They were turned away from Cyprus. Now we understand the ship is ordered to sail again, to some place called Deir el Belah. While we’re talking those men are locked below in the holds. You might have noticed a certain stuffiness in this cabin. You should try five minutes in that hold!” She was leaning forward now, hands gripping the arms of the chair, voice lifted in anger.
Finlayson was leaning back against the table, his face showing only patience. He asked, “And what do you want of me?”
“That you give the order to bring them ashore, get them off that damned ship!”
Finlayson shook his head, answered quietly but positively. “No. I am aware of the facts of the case, such as are known and I’m sure you are aware of them. Those men were embarked on Morning Star under orders and I am bound by those orders. Until they are countermanded or new circumstances alter the case, then the battalion stays aboard Morning Star.”
Adeline Brett took a breath. “Very well. Then there are some other facts of which you may not be aware. My father —”
Finlayson pushed away from the table. He did not raise his voice but there was an edge of anger to it as he broke in, “I know about your father and your uncle, and their friends, and their influence in Parliament and the press. I know you got aboard that ship by threatening to use what influence you and they possess at home but that weighs nothing with me. This job of mine brings difficult decisions but people like you make some of them easier. I will not be blackmailed. I have always tried to do my duty without fear or favour.”
There was a moment of silence. Only the ventilators hummed as if the ship were breathing around them while the soldier glared at the girl who now sat white faced.
Then Finlayson said flatly, “Good day to you, Miss Brett.” And that was final, dismissal.
She stood up and went to the door and Smith moved quietly to open it. As she passed him he said softly, “Wait.” He did not know if she heard him. He turned and found Edwards at his back.
The colonel lounged past him to the door and drawled, “I’ll just get a breath of air.” But as he went out his eyes were looking for the girl hungrily.
Smith turned reluctantly back to the cabin. Behind him Jeavons was saying nervously, “None of that was my idea, but it’s right that I want to put those men and the rest o’ the cargo ashore. See, sir, I know my agents will have another waiting for me at Tangier in no more than a week.”
Finlayson said, “Y
ou have my sympathy, captain. But the agents acting on behalf of your owners are contracted to deliver that cargo, and that includes the battalion, at a place to be stipulated. There was no time clause. That contract means that the Morning Star is under orders as much as any ship of war, virtually hired by the Admiralty.”
Braddock nodded.
Jeavons looked from one to the other, then said heavily, “Very well. But you’ll give me your word that you’ll take off these men as soon as possible? Because as I told Commander Smith only last night, they get on my nerves. They’re that quiet and the way they watch you ...”
Finlayson said, “You have my word.” Jeavons put on his cap and left.
Finlayson shifted in his seat and muttered, “That damned Edwards — drink and women! Whenever he gets to Cairo it’s one damned woman after another.”
His gaze fell on Smith and he was momentarily embarrassed and looked away. Then he cleared his throat and turned his cold eye on Smith again. “You endorsed those comments made by Miss Brett regarding the conditions aboard Morning Star. Maybe you think I’m being unnecessarily severe? That I could turn a blind eye to my orders? Remember this: one of those men shot and killed his commanding officer and some of them, if not all, know who fired the shots. Yet every one has denied knowledge and that under oath. Some or all were therefore involved in mutiny under arms, if not in the face of the enemy then certainly on active service.” Finlayson jabbed a stubby finger at Smith. “Remember this, too: There was mutiny in the French army this summer. Now I don’t believe this army will mutiny, not any part of it. But suppose we put Taggart’s battalion ashore here, even under guard, and the questions were asked: Why are they held? What have they done? How many are guilty? How many are innocent and why are they held? I don’t want this army asking those questions, doubting, looking over its shoulder because that could be fatal. It has come too far, suffered too much and I won’t have its sacrifices wasted. I have to choose between the army and the battalion and I’ve chosen. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Smith paused but would not let it go. “This battalion, sir. Can I ask for something?”
Finlayson said, exasperated, “Good God! Another one?”
Smith said, “Sir, when I went aboard Morning Star I countermanded some of the orders given to Captain Brand.”
“You did, eh?” Finlayson scowled at Braddock, who in turn scowled at Smith.
Who pressed on doggedly, “It seemed to me the conditions aboard that ship were unfit for animals, let alone men.”
Finlayson’s lips tightened but Smith persisted. “When I boarded Morning Star it was because the men had broken out of the hold despite the wire and the marines. What really held them back and what holds them now is their discipline and the presence of the one officer with them, Major Taggart. There’s no reason they should be kept in the hold, nor that the food should be so bad.”
And he argued, until Finlayson looked at him thoughtfully and nodded assent and Smith said, “Sir, if the orders could be given before Morning Star sailed —”
Finlayson waved him into silence and said dryly, “I heard you don’t waste time. I’m going ashore now and I’ll have my aide see to it.”
“Thank you, sir. Er — would you care for a drink?”
Finlayson said, “Thanks, I think you owe me one.”
As he and Braddock were savouring neat Scotch Smith remembered Edwards and the girl and excused himself.
Out on the deck there was disciplined commotion among the oiling parties as the oiler came alongside. The ammunition lighter would arrive as soon as the oiler cleared. Jeavons waited disconsolately at the head of the accommodation ladder under the small light there, but Smith had to search for Adeline Brett, finally spotting her in the darker shadow of the superstructure and almost hidden by Edwards. He was leaning over her but as Smith stepped up the girl laughed and Edwards eased away. His teeth showed in a smile as he said to her, “Another time.”
“Possibly,” she answered, “but very unlikely.”
Edwards countered easily. “All things are possible.”
Then Bright appeared on the run, halted before Edwards and panted, “First Lieutenant sent me to show you your cabin, sir. Your bag’s gone below.”
Edwards said acidly, “There was a bottle or two in that bag. I trust your heavy-handed sailor didn’t break them. But lead on, little admiral.” He followed Bright forward.
Adeline Brett faced Smith boldly, Edwards was dismissed from her mind. “I suppose you think that was a dirty trick? The way I tried to bully Finlayson?”
Smith answered, “It wasn’t bullying. It was attempted blackmail and it was a dirty trick.”
“I’m not sorry. I did it for the battalion.”
“The end justifying the means?”
“Any means.” She waited but when Smith did not answer she pressed him, “Well?”
He said, “The other day I had to order a seaplane to search for a train. They found the train but the seaplane was shot down. The pilot and observer we got back unharmed but suppose they had been killed? What should I write to their next-of-kin? So sorry, but the end ...?”
She peered up at him. “You had to send them, of course, even knowing there was a risk.”
“Yes.”
“Then surely that was a case of the end —”
Smith said harshly, “I just mistrust the — the catch phrase. In war one man’s means can mean another man’s bloody end.”
Adeline Brett was silent for a moment. “I agree with you.” Then she smiled lopsidedly, “I also agree with me, but then I’m a woman.”
Smith stared down at her and thought he would not disagree with that.
Her eyes fell and she said quietly, “You asked me to wait.”
He had forgotten but now he cleared his throat and. said, “The general has been thinking it over. The battalion will be allowed on deck once Morning Star is clear of the harbour and he’s arranging for fresh food to be sent aboard and one or two other things.” Then as she stared at him he said hurriedly, “Here they come ... you’d better get away. Jeavons looks to be ready.”
Braddock stood at the door of the cabin, peering about him. Smith took the girl’s arm and handed her over to the master of the Morning Star, saw them both started down the ladder. Her voice came up to him, quiet but clear, “Thank you.”
Braddock appeared at Smith’s elbow, “Where’s Edwards?”
“Gone to his cabin, sir.”
Braddock muttered, “Extraordinary coincidence.”
“Sir?”
Braddock shrugged. “I — know something of his background ...” He paused then growled, “But I can’t speak of that. All I can tell you is that the bloody man’s a show-off. All that casual talk of cutting throats is said for effect but it’s also true. He’s a killer. Finlayson detests him because he’s a long way from your conventional army officer.”
Smith thought that Finlayson did not like him either, because he too came with a reputation of being unorthodox. Did Finlayson lump the pair of them together, he and Edwards? He did not like the thought of that.
But Braddock was rumbling on. “He’s a brigand. Before the war he was some sort of trader all around these parts. I don’t know what his trading was but he certainly didn’t learn to use that knife in the British army.”
Smith asked, “Knife?”
Braddock grunted. “You’ll see. I’ve seen him in his Arab get-up.” But now Finlayson waited at the head of the accommodation ladder and Braddock went on quickly, “Two bits of news for you: you’ll be getting some help when the balloon goes up. There’s an old French battleship coming from Malta: Maroc. She’s slow but she mounts four 12-inch guns and she’ll be under your orders. The other thing is that we’ve heard the three German ships in the Sea of Marmara have been exercising but they’re back in port now.” That was Goeben, Breslau and the big cruiser Walküre, which had run through the Dardanelles to seek sanctuary with Turkey early in the war. “Three of them locked in ther
e. Thank God. Still, it must be hard. ... The Germans have some fine seamen.”
“Yes, sir. Particularly in the U-boats.”
Braddock cocked an eye at him. “You know that’s damned near heresy? That they’re supposed to be treacherous and cowardly?”
Smith grinned at him, knowing his man now. “Yes, sir.”
Braddock turned towards the ladder, but paused to say seriously, “You’ve got to find this bloody Afrika Legion if it comes. We’ve got to know. It could scupper the whole campaign.”
“I know.”
Braddock nodded, strode to the ladder and went down after Finlayson.
*
The day came, the oiler cast off and was replaced by the ammunition lighter. The men of Dauntless and Blackbird toiled on, the latter coaling ship from a lighter alongside. At Smith’s orders Ackroyd had sent a large party over from Dauntless to help with the back-breaking, filthy job of coaling ship. They had to break into the hard-packed coal in the lighter, shovel it into sacks to be swung up by the derricks, ten sacks to a strop, and then poured into Blackbird’s bunkers. The ship lay almost hidden in a cloud of coaldust that drifted on the wind.
Ackroyd said from the heart, watching Dauntless’s hands go to work at cleaning ship as the ammunition lighter eased away, “Thank God we burn oil.” Like most of them, he’d had his share of coaling ship.
Smith had been busy with the chart, had made his plans, and now sent for Pearce and the Gang from Blackbird. The Gang were the four flying crews, an exclusive little club who messed together aboard Blackbird and went ashore together.
They climbed the accommodation ladder and saluted. The four pilots were Cole, Bennett, Kirby and Rogers, all Flight Lieutenants of the Royal Naval Air Service. And the observers, three of them lieutenants but volunteers from the army: big Hamilton of the Artillery, Wilson of the Norfolks, and Burns, fourth generation of family that had served in the India Army, from the Rajputs. Last was a small midshipman called Maitland.
