by Alan Evans
As far as Finlayson was concerned, it was obviously the end of the interview, but Smith asked, “What about Morning Star, sir?”
Finlayson said bitterly. “I could have done without her and that damned battalion! A team of investigating officers came up from Cairo and spent a day aboard her. They said the men talked, when they talked at all, like a lot of bloody parrots! They found out nothing. After the attack, when the army has moved on, I’ll have them brought ashore and interrogated again because a man has been murdered and regardless of the rights and wrongs in the case, the murderer must be found and tried. Justice must be done.” He sighed, then said dryly, “Meanwhile, I’ve had all your suggestions acted on. Go and see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
*
The motor-boat headed for Morning Star, passing close under Blackbird’s stern and Smith smelt the lingering stench of the fire, borne on the breeze from the black cavern of the hangar. Blackbird was coaling and Smith saw men from Dauntless working aboard her.
The launch patrolling around Morning Star turned to intercept the motor-boat. The Lewis gun mounted forward in the launch was manned and as she came alongside the lieutenant commanding her called across the gap, “What boat is that?”
Smith stepped to the side where he could be seen and answered, “Dauntless. Commander Smith.” And: “What are your orders?”
The lieutenant called, “To keep everyone away except those on my list.”
“What list is that?”
“The admiral gave it to me but it came from General Finlayson. Your name is on it, sir.”
“Is it a long list?”
“Ten names, sir.”
The launch swung away and Smith thought that Finlayson meant to keep the battalion isolated and that came as no surprise. But Smith’s name was on the list of those authorised to board and that did surprise him. Had Finlayson assumed that Smith would return to ask about the men aboard Morning Star? Or had Braddock guessed that Smith would be unhappy about the situation and would return to it when opportunity offered?
But the boat was swinging around under the stern of Morning Star. The pink-faced midshipman at her helm looked down his nose at the grime on the ladder the tramp had rigged. Smith climbed it nevertheless, found one of Captain Brand’s marines on guard at the head of it and asked him, “Major Taggart?”
The marine peered, recognised him and said, “The major’s forrard, sir.”
Smith walked past the superstructure and found that the entire deck forward of the bridge was now a large cage of barbed wire, in a fence across the deck and erected along the sides. There was a door in the wire where a marine sentry stood guard and Smith could see another sentry on the fo’c’sle. The deck inside the cage was covered with the bodies of sleeping men but one man saw Smith and rose. He picked his way through the others to the wire and the sentry let him through. In the dim light Smith saw that Taggart’s left eye was puffy and cut at the side.
Taggart said, “They’ve shipped extra stoves, army cooks and fresh food, so we’re eating much better. We’ve got drill uniforms in place of the serge and we’re allowed on deck day and night. I’m very grateful.”
Smith muttered something, embarrassed. Over Taggart’s shoulder he saw that one other man was awake, sat with his head propped against the bulwark, staring unseeing across the deck of the Morning Star. Smith thought he recognised him. Hadn’t he been the only man in the hold not to watch Smith that first night? To change the subject he nodded towards the man, and asked Taggart, “Who’s that?”
Taggart answered casually, “Garrett. He’s a bit young. I use him as a runner so as to keep my eye on him.” He went on quickly, taking Smith’s arm, “Come on, we’ll go where we can talk.”
They passed the superstructure and crossed the deck away from the marine sentry at the head of the ladder. A rectangular, tarpaulin-covered shape was lashed to the deck. Smith glanced at it curiously and Taggart explained, “Adeline’s wagon for carrying her supplies or wounded. There’s a harness but most of the time we haven’t had a horse or mule so we’ve man-hauled it. That’s easy enough, it’s light and well-sprung.” They halted, leaned on the bulwark and looked out over the anchorage to where Dauntless lay, Blackbird astern of her. For a time they were silent then Taggart said, “Good-looking ship.”
Smith said simply, “She’s beautiful.” Then, remembering Taggart’s swollen eye, he turned and asked casually, “Any trouble?”
But Taggart shook his head. “The feller that tried to grab Adeline, Captain Jeavons put him ashore in Port Said. We’ve had no more trouble.”
So the eye was unexplained. Smith looked past him.
“They are a remarkably disciplined body of men.” That didn’t say a part of what he meant. “I mean —” He searched for words.
Taggart glanced sideways at him. “I think I know what you mean. They hold together, fight together. But they’re not a herd of regimented cattle. They’ve learned and they think. Loyal to King and Country and all that and damn this talk of mutiny, but above all they are loyal to themselves because they’re infantrymen and they’ve soldiered together a long time. They are the best.”
Smith remembered the faces in the hold and he had seen strain and in that one man, Garrett, a cold hardness, but in none of them either viciousness or fear. He thought over what Taggart had just told him and it confirmed and clarified the unformed impression he had gained, that in a unit under Taggart the men of his battalion would be a force to reckon with in the field. But that would not happen because no matter what the outcome, whether the murderer among them was found or not, the battalion would never fight again as a unit. It would be held in the rear and sooner or later split up, scattered across the battlefields of Africa and Europe.
Taggart’s gaze slid past Smith and he went on hurriedly, “Sorry if Adeline gave you the rough edge of her tongue the other night. She feels for the men and she’s a grand girl when you get to know her.”
Smith said dryly, “I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Do it now.”
Smith turned and saw Adeline Brett coming towards them, soft-footed in canvas shoes, a dressing gown wrapped around her slim figure, her hair tousled. She stopped before them, pushed at the blonde curls with one hand and said, “A boat came alongside and woke me. I couldn’t get off to sleep again.” She looked at Smith. “Was that you?”
He nodded. “Sorry.”
She shrugged that aside. “I doze a lot in the day now because I haven’t much to do. Except when somebody organises a boxing tournament, takes on the battalion champion and gets his block knocked off.”
Taggart touched his swollen eye and said defensively, “I slipped.”
The girl smiled. “Three times.” Then she became serious and asked Smith, “I thought I saw wounded taken ashore?”
He answered heavily, “Two, and an observer was killed.”
Taggart said, understanding, “Sick?”
Smith nodded. “I’m bloody sick.”
Taggart caught the girl’s eye on him and he asked Smith abruptly, “You’re off soon?”
Smith looked across to Blackbird and saw the coaling lighter being towed away. “Very soon.”
“I’ll see you again, maybe.” Taggart walked forward and left Smith and the girl alone.
She said, “I want to thank you.”
“It’s been said already.” Smith was gazing after Taggart. “He’s in trouble up to his neck. He knows who did it and when the truth finally comes out they’ll know he lied to shield the man and they won’t be easy on him. He’s an officer and can give no excuse.” His eyes came down to the girl. “Do you know?”
“I wasn’t there when the colonel was shot.”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you know who did it?”
She answered angrily, “The colonel was a drunken fool! John Taggart had seen the position they were to attack and told him it was hopeless. The colonel hadn’t even seen it but he still told the general
that his battalion would take it! He was safely behind the line when the attack went in and he didn’t even see the wounded come back, but I saw them!” She shuddered.
Smith waited then pressed her again. Because Finlayson was right and this secret was a poison. Taggart would suffer for it, and many others. “Do you know who did it?”
Adeline hesitated, then: “I — have a suspicion but it’s no more than that. I wouldn’t tell anyone.” That was final.
He said, “I have to go.” She walked with him to the head of the ladder, guarded by a marine sentry. He paused awkwardly. “As Taggart said, ‘See you again.’”
She smiled but with lips tight-pressed and he wondered if she was laughing at him. But she asked, “What’s your name?”
“David.”
She set her hands on his shoulders, put up her face and kissed him. “Thank you, David.” She walked away. The marine sentry stared blankly out into the night as Smith glared at him, then turned and descended the ladder. The marine grinned.
The motor-boat crept in alongside Dauntless and Smith forgot the battalion, Taggart and Adeline Brett. The launch from the shore was hooked on to the foot of the ladder and it had brought Merryweather back to the ship, but Braddock was also aboard it. As the boats rubbed together and Merryweather climbed up to the deck of Dauntless Braddock leaned over the side of the launch and growled, “They’ve just brought in an Arab with a message from Edwards. Another throat-cutter by the looks of him but the word from Edwards is that there’s a supply dump by the railway at Lydda and a company of Germans are guarding it. Know anything about it?”
Smith shook his head and explained, “There’s an anti-aircraft battery just south of Lydda so we give it a wide berth. Shorts are a gift to Archie.”
Braddock grunted. “Don’t know if it means anything.” Then: “How did you get on with that feller, Edwards? What did you make of him?”
You did not beat about the bush with Braddock so Smith answered baldly, “I think he’s totally selfish, ruthless, very brave.”
Braddock nodded and said wryly, “A gallant blackguard. Or black sheep, because he comes of a good family ...” He stopped there and straightened. “You still think this Afrika Legion might arrive in time to ruin everything?”
“Yes, sir.”
Braddock muttered, “I hope to God you’re wrong.”
The launch headed away and Smith climbed aboard Dauntless. He had his orders, both ships had completed with fuel and the search would go on as long as they could keep the sea. When the Afrika Legion came, either this detour to Deir el Belah would have done no harm and they would find it at Adana — or a court martial would break Smith.
Before the sun rose, when the first light was a pink edging to the Hills of Judaea, Dauntless led Blackbird out of the anchorage as quietly as they had come and headed for the Gulf of Alexandretta.
*
Telegraphist Lofty Williams curled his long frame to lean his head in at the door of the galley blinking after the glare of the afternoon sun. “Wotcher, Cookie. Any chance of a wet?”
Leading Cook Matthews, sweating rivers in the heat of the galley, jerked his head at the stove and the big kettle of tea that stewed there. “Help yourself.” He watched as Lofty produced the two pint mugs from behind his back like a conjuror performing some sleight of hand and poured tea the colour of gravy into the cups, added sugar and a spoonful of condensed milk. Matthews asked, “What’s goin’ on, then?”
Lofty eyed the tea. “Looks a drop o’ good.”
“It is. Cooks only, that is.”
Lofty sipped and swore as he burnt his tongue. “What’s goin’ on? Nothing much, mate. Just another fast run up the coast by the looks of it. Them flyers in Blackbird’ll be busy tomorrow but that’s about all. Not like them first two weeks when the ol’ man was trying to shoot everything that showed itself ashore.”
Matthews nodded. “We’ve got a fire-eater there. I’ve heard one or two tales about him. Quiet feller, but —”
“Ah! But! Still waters, mate.” Then Lofty added thoughtfully, “He’s been quieter than ever since we started this trip. I was talking to that Buckley, you know, the big killick as came with him and acts as his dog-robber. He says the Skipper’s too quiet an’ that means he’s got one o’ his feelings ...”
Matthews peered at him suspiciously. “What? You mean like second sight?”
“Naw! Second sight my —! Just that he puts two and two together and smells a rat a lot faster than the rest of them. At least, that’s what Buckley reckons and he knows him.”
“So?”
Lofty shrugged. “So nothing. Except that the balloon’ll be going up ashore pretty soon when the army attacks and maybe Smith knows when that will be. We’ll be busy then. But now? Nothing. Just a quiet little run up the coast.”
He walked aft, easily adjusting to the motion of Dauntless so that he did not spill a drop from either of the mugs he carried even when climbing down the ladders to the lower deck. At the wireless office he edged in through the thick pall of tobacco smoke from the pipe of Leading Telegraphist Bailey, who sat slouched in one chair with his feet propped up on another and the headphones pushed comfortably down so the earpieces rested against his jaw.
Bailey took the pipe from his mouth, glanced up at the clock and said, “Blimey, you’re early. Are we sinking?”
“They haven’t told me.”
“If it happens they probably won’t.”
“Just thought I’d get a wet before I started.” Lofty was to take over the watch from Bailey at four. It was now five minutes to. He offered a mug and asked, “Anything goin’ on?”
Bailey shook his head and sipped at the tea. “Routine.”
“Just what I was telling Cookie. A quiet little run —”
He stopped as Bailey’s feet slammed down from their resting place on the chair and he shoved the mug aside, reached out to the Morse key and rattled off a brief acknowledgment. Someone was calling Dauntless. His hand moved from the key, picked up the sharpened pencil and he began to print neatly in blocks on the signal pad. Lofty leaned over his shoulder, watching the letters as Bailey set them down one by one.
The signal was in code.
Lofty nipped out of the office, ambled aft past the warrant officer’s mess and halted at the first cabin he came to. The curtain that served instead of a door was drawn back and Lieutenant Cherrett, the signals officer lay on his bunk, a magazine open on his chest, snoring gently. Lofty reached in, shook Cherrett’s foot and as he grunted and opened sleepy eyes, said, “Beg pardon, sir. Signal coming in. Coded.”
Cherrett grumbled, “Probably some highly-secret request for the number of teetotallers on board.” But he got up quickly and went to the wireless office, sat down with the signal and the books and started de-coding.
Minutes later he was racing forward along the upper deck and taking the ladders to the bridge in long, leaping strides. To Ackroyd, who had the watch, he panted, “Captain?”
Ackroyd jerked his head towards the sea-cabin. “In there. What’s the rush?”
Cherrett threw at him: “Walküre’s out!”
6 — Dawn Rendezvous
Why?
Smith was snatching some much-needed but uneasy sleep on the narrow bunk in the sea-cabin when Cherrett brought the signal. After the initial moment of shock that question came first to his mind. Why had Walküre broken out? What was her intention?
The signal advanced no theories. Walküre was known to have sailed the previous night, evading her watchers and passing through the Dardanelles under cover of darkness. Her course and destination, her present position, were unknown. Dauntless and Blackbird were to proceed to a rendezvous just west of Cyprus, where they would be joined by the old French battleship Maroc and her two escorts at first light. They would then sweep westward. Smith would command — and that was welcome confirmation of what Braddock had told him three days before at Port Said.
He went into the chartroom with Henderson the navig
ator, laid off the new course and worked out their time of arrival at the rendezvous. Twelve hours of steaming at Blackbird’s best speed of twenty knots would see them there at dawn to meet Maroc. Their dash to the Gulf of Alexandretta would have to wait. Dangerous as the Afrika Legion was, a German warship at large in the Mediterranean constituted an even greater threat.
He returned to the bridge and Ackroyd said, “Reckon we’re in for a blow and there’ll be a sea running before tonight.”
Smith thought he was right and it was bad news. He wanted Blackbird in the searching line as another pair of eyes, an extension of that line, with her Shorts to increase the range of the search enormously. If bad weather prevented them flying then the area of search would be only that seen by the spread line of ships.
Henderson said, “Walküre’s a funny sort of ship. With twelve 8.2-inch guns, and fifteen thousand tons, she’s too big for a cruiser. Yet at the same time she’s too small for a battle cruiser or a battleship.”
Ackroyd shrugged square shoulders and said with heavy humour, “A pocket-sized battleship.”
That brought grins to the faces on the bridge and Henderson said, “Some pocket.”
