Right of Reply

by John Harris

  Leggo crossed to a blackboard that had been erected behind Hodges’ chair and lifted a dust sheet. On the blackboard were maps of Khanzi and King Boffa Port and the harbour installations.

  ‘Operation Stabledoor, gentlemen,’ he said briskly, and there was a shuffling among the seated officers.

  ‘You all have maps like this,’ Leggo went on. ‘Perhaps you’d like to make notes. I’ve prepared typed lists of what I’m going to tell you, too, though. You can pick them up off the table.’

  He jabbed at the map of the harbour installations. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘my – er – information is that hidden among the trees facing the harbour is a rocket battery, equivalent to our 4-inch. There’s another one here.’ He jabbed at the map again. ‘And both are placed so as to cover the beaches and the entrance to the port.’

  Dixon glanced at Calhoun, but no one said anything.

  ‘I’m also well informed,’ Leggo went on, ‘that here and here and here–’ he made several jabs at the green-shaded portion of the map of Khanzi – ‘there are reserve brigades. There are white officers, in some cases mercenaries from the Congo, and I’m told these troops are very good. They’re there to back up the local units and they’ve got a lot of experience of this sort of fighting. And they’ve got good weapons. You know as well as I do, gentlemen, that the Russians have been working weapons into the area for years.’

  ‘What about airfields?’ Neville asked abruptly.

  ‘Here and here.’ Leggo indicated points on the map of King Boffa Port.

  ‘My information,’ Neville said slowly, ‘is that most of what’s on those fields is old stuff that we gave them. I understand there are no Migs on those fields at all, but we know for certain they’ve received a great number of the latest Mig 41s.’

  Leggo nodded. ‘That’s my information, too,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m afraid we haven’t yet established where these Migs are, though we think they’re at Lo and Kij-Moro.’ He jabbed at the map of Khanzi again. ‘There are certainly open areas here and there, and it could well be that they are there.’

  Neville frowned. ‘The R5s have seen nothing of them,’ he said. ‘Mind, they’re surrounded by jungle. Easiest thing in the world to hide ’em and camouflage them.’

  ‘Easiest thing in the world to camouflage installations in jungle areas, too,’ Hodges added.

  ‘What about runways?’ Neville asked.

  ‘The ground’s stony and well-drained. So long as it’s good and flat, there’s no problem there.’

  ‘If they’re there,’ Neville said, ‘they’ve been damn careful with their vehicles. Nobody’s spotted any tracks.’

  ‘Go on, Stuart,’ Hodges said bleakly.

  Leggo glanced at him and went on mercilessly. ‘There’s a blockship loaded with cement, scrap-iron and high explosives already in place,’ he said. ‘It only needs winching across the entrance to the harbour and triggering off.’

  ‘Is there, by God?’ Downes said. ‘Well, I suppose it was to be expected.’

  Leggo nodded and went on in cold, precise terms to list the Khanzian army units and describe the morale and equipment of the various brigades.

  ‘Eighteen brigades?’ It was Dixon’s turn to pull a face. ‘They told us nine.’

  Leggo ignored him and began to read from a typed sheet the figures he’d written down after his meeting with Stella Davies. He saw the faces in front of him fall.

  ‘Those aren’t the figures I’ve got,’ Dixon said sharply. He sounded irritated.

  ‘Nor me,’ Neville agreed.

  ‘I think I can vouch for them,’ Leggo said.

  Calhoun stared at his notes. ‘Seems to make a bit of difference,’ he said, his voice edgy as though he were a little shaken. He reached across to the table. ‘Let’s have that breakdown a moment.’ He picked up a sheet of paper and began to read it, his lips moving, his brows coming down as he worked through it.

  ‘Fifty Centurions, T34s and JS3s. Seventy-five Shees.’ He muttered the words half to himself. ‘A hundred and fifty guns, BTZ scout cars…’ He looked up. ‘According to your report they’ve got about a third more of everything than we bargained for.’ He glanced at the sheet again. ‘SU 100 self-propelled guns, 22-millimetre guns, 57-millimetre anti-tank weapons.’ He looked up again. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘Not much ground work was done in London before they took the decision to send us in. Where did all this come from?’

  ‘At least one Communist vessel a week’s being unloaded at King Boffa Port,’ Leggo pointed out. ‘I gather the total purchases are around two hundred and fifty million dollars, to say nothing of twenty-seven million pounds’ worth in neighbouring states who’ve offered it in the event of an emergency.’

  Calhoun looked shaken. ‘It’s a pity Intelligence didn’t let us have this appreciation before,’ he said. ‘It might have helped in the planning. Anything more?’

  ‘Several things,’ Leggo said. ‘It’s all listed. And there’s a new Soviet consul just been appointed – Dhevyadov, one of Tchikov’s pupils and an expert at organising subversion, defence and propaganda.’

  There was a muttered discussion for a while, and Hodges caught a note of alarm in it. He broke it up before it got going.

  ‘Right, gentlemen,’ he said sharply. ‘What we’ve just been discussing makes a vast difference to Stabledoor, I think.’

  Nobody spoke and he went on slowly. ‘You know how far disaffection’s gone in your own commands. You know what you have to face. You know your orders. Now – as far as I’m concerned I’ve received my instructions but I’m not entirely happy about them and, while I’m prepared to carry out whatever I’m told to do, it seems only fair to me that the people at home should know just what we’re facing. Quite apart from Leggo’s figures, we’re now pretty certain there are Mig fighters within easy reach of King Boffa Port and we suspect there are at least two – if not more – Russian submarines within striking distance of this convoy. How much of this is known at home, I’m not sure. They seem to know precious little, and I’m proposing to tell them, not because I’m afraid of what might happen to us but because I feel they should still have the opportunity to withdraw from this adventure if they feel they ought. I want to know what your views are on this operation. I should point out that any final decision will be mine. Cal, what do you feel?’

  Calhoun glanced at the others. He was obviously very unhappy at being the first to speak. It was an invidious position he was in, especially if all the others were to disagree with him.

  He swallowed, lit a cigarette and drew a long puff at it.

  ‘I’m a bit worried about it,’ he said at length.

  The others glanced up quickly at him and Hodges leaned forward.

  ‘Would you like to enlarge on that, Cal?’ he prompted.

  ‘Yes.’ Calhoun blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I’ve thought for some time that Stabledoor wasn’t properly equipped for what it’s expected to do. Our gear’s not even as good as the Malalans’ and it’s not interchangeable. It seems now that not enough thought was put into it at home. I think the whole plan was rushed at the beginning, and it’s been stop-go ever since, with nobody in London willing to go the whole hog.’

  He paused and went on cautiously, choosing his words with care. ‘Because the Reservists were restless, we dismantled bridges and rewired the camp,’ he said, ‘but it was collective training they needed, not that. As for the vehicles, half of ’em are over-age and a lot of their fittings were missing and never did turn up, and all the changes of plan have caused considerable confusion in the loading. The force had to be tactically embarked and it’s a fundamental principle that what the men need first must be embarked last. But after all the changes we’ve had from London, we’ll probably find that when we arrive the equipment’ll bear little relation to what we need. Some of the stuff, I’m told, belongs to units which aren’t even taking part any longer, and I know for a fact that half my gear’s in one ship and half in another. With what’s been happening in individual
units, I think it sounds very tricky, but I’d like to reserve my final opinion until I’ve heard the others.’

  ‘That’s fair enough. Dixon?’

  Dixon took off his spectacles and polished them. Without them, he looked more myopic and somehow less sure of him-self. He replaced the spectacles on his nose and cleared his throat.

  ‘I think we should go in,’ he said firmly. ‘I know we’ve heard a lot about what we’re likely to face, but I think we can discount some of it. I think it’s been exaggerated by people with the wind-up.’

  ‘Who, for instance?’ Neville asked aggressively.

  Dixon waved a hand. ‘Oh, nobody in particular,’ he said. ‘Intelligence, generally. I think also we’re overestimating how much these people are supporting Scepwe.’

  Leggo interrupted. ‘My information, sir, is that they’re solidly behind him. They don’t wish to be part of Malala and, in fact, originally they never were. They were an independent kingdom but got swept in when Macmillan’s “wind of change” began to alter the face of Africa. They never settled down and they’ve taken the first opportunity to opt out. And it so happens that our treaty was with the Malalans and not with the Khanzians, and they don’t want a British base there.’

  ‘International base,’ Dixon put in. ‘That was the agreement.’

  ‘That’s a lot of old rope,’ Neville rapped out. ‘That was just to cover the politicians. It’s a British base and always was.’

  ‘A treaty’s a treaty!’

  ‘Only so long as both sides agree on it. When they don’t, the whole bloody thing falls to pieces.’

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Hodges stopped the argument in its tracks. ‘Shall we try not to stray?’

  Dixon looked vaguely sulky, as though he were defending his views simply for the sake of it and in the teeth of the facts. ‘We mustn’t ever forget that the Khanzian troops were never of the best,’ he said. ‘They’re not like the Nigerians.’

  ‘They’ve been trained by Ghanaian officers,’ Neville growled. He didn’t seem to like Dixon very much.

  ‘That doesn’t make them good troops.’

  Hodges cut them short before the discussion became acrimonious again, and turned to Reading.

  The Marine looked puzzled. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the landing ships we’ve got are mostly obsolete and my chaps haven’t had much chance to practice amphibious work. They’ve been doing internal security duties in Malta. And if the Khanzians have got the latest Soviet tanks then we haven’t got the antitank guns to knock ’em out. Our signals equipment’s indifferent and the radio links on the whole have been bad.’ He gave a short humourless laugh. ‘I’d say it’ll be easier to get our information from the BBC news than from Pepul. Still,’ he paused, ‘it’d be disastrous to call it off now, especially if it had to be put on again later. I say go.’

  ‘Thank you. Rattray?’

  Rattray glanced at Reading uncomfortably, as though he disagreed with him and didn’t fancy saying so. His hands moved over a book he was holding and Hodges saw the title – Das Vollständig Panzerbuch. Rattray was obviously a man who took his job seriously and did a lot of homework.

  ‘“A” Squadron of the 7th/9th Tanks,’ he said slowly, ‘spent the last two years detached for demonstration duties at the Infantry School. The men of “B” Squadron were without their vehicles and attached to the Territorials. The rest were on garrison duty at their base at Bilworth. There was no chance to get the men together, and shooting practice’s been out of the question. They’ve got old vehicles and they’re damn short of stores and training. It’s the same with the 4th/6th, and these Soviet tanks the Khanzians have got are outstanding. Speed, manoeuvrability, fire power and armour leave nothing to be desired, and their turret designs reduce vulnerability to a direct hit to nil. If I’m told to go, I’ll go and do the best I can, but I’d be dishonest if I said I thought it’d be easy.’

  Hodges swung in his chair towards Downes, whose languor disappeared as he sat up. ‘I’m of the same mind as Calhoun,’ he said sharply. ‘Not enough’s been put into this from London, and there’s no sense of certainty at home – even now. My orders are that we’re not to fire on shore installations except with secondary armament, and that we’re not to touch civilian areas. What sort of order’s that? If anyone lobs anything at my ships, I shall give orders to flatten it with anything we’ve got. If men’s lives are involved, then I’ll take the responsibility. Concerning morale, I’m not happy about the crews. There are too many Reserve officers, who’ve a lot to lose and nothing to gain, and too many Reservist seamen who think now like trade unionists. I’m not happy about Stabledoor and if the people at home were to signal that it was all off, then I’d be the first man to cheer.’

  ‘I think that would be my attitude exactly,’ Calhoun said.

  Hodges tried hard to avoid showing any kind of feeling, and turned to Neville.

  ‘How about the RAF?’

  Neville’s attitude was uncompromising. ‘With respect, sir,’ he snapped, ‘I think the whole bloody operation was dreamed up by a half-witted deaf-mute in between visits to the heads. According to Leggo’s information, we can expect our jets to be outflown by Scepwe’s Migs and we’ve known all along that side-loading transports for the parachutists are out of date. What’s more, we’ll be flying into the sun in the early morning, but the sun visors we asked for never arrived and that won’t help to make the pilots more accurate with their sticks. The helicopter planning at home was bad, too. I think our people have let their prickly pride get them into this one and they’re anxious now not to back down in case they lose face. I expect it’s politics they’re worried about, if the truth were known, and I suppose they’re busy counting votes. It may not have escaped your notice that there’s an election due in a year’s time and this seems to me a good time for a bit of poker playing. It’s all or nothing. If they fail to pull this one off, they’ll lose nothing, because public opinion polls seem to indicate they’ll be out on their ears, anyway. But, by God, sir, if they do pull it off, they’re in again. We all know that. I think the PM’s gambling again, sir. He gambled at Singapore, and by the grace of God, it came off, and like all gamblers he thinks the circumstances are the same and it’ll come off again. I thank the whole thing stinks, sir. I’ve got a job to do and I’ll do as I’m told to the best of my ability because I can’t afford to resign, but by God, I don’t take much pride in it.’

  Hodges warmed to Neville’s abrupt forthrightness, thoroughly agreeing with everything he said. Nevertheless, he was surprised that it was the RAF man, with his bang-on reputation, who’d shown the most shrewdness.

  ‘Leggo,’ he went on. ‘I think you should let us have your views.’

  Leggo frowned. ‘With respect, General,’ he said, ‘I think not. My information was unofficial and I hold no command.’

  Hodges managed a wry smile. He wasn’t sure how much Leggo’s refusal stemmed from honesty and how much from a desire to avoid responsibility. If a wrong decision were taken and he weren’t associated with it, his chances of promotion wouldn’t be damaged.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘My own opinion’s somewhere around centre, I must admit.’ He stood up. ‘Gentlemen, I’m seriously considering sending a signal home to the effect that I have the gravest doubts about Stabledoor. I have an uneasy feeling that we have another Dieppe in the making, and I’ve no desire to be responsible for it.’

  He turned away. ‘And now, let’s all have a drink.’

  They began to rise and Leggo offered drinks round. Hodges was just about to raise his glass to his lips when he caught sight of Neville standing with his head on one side.

  ‘Listen,’ the airman said. ‘What’s that?’

  They were all silent for a second. Above the hum of the ship’s turbines and the muffled sounds of movement from outside, they could hear voices.

  ‘Shouting,’ Leggo said.

  The sound was disjointed and disconnected, but as they listened it seemed to clot and congeal
and the shouts became one.

  ‘That’s not shouting,’ Neville snapped. ‘That’s cheering.’

  Five

  It had been raining in London and the streets were wet and shining and, across the open spaces of Westminster where people hurried close to the walls out of the rain, the taxis turned the corners with whining tyres and a thin spray of water from their wheels.

  There was a break in the clouds over towards Tower Bridge and the Prime Minister, catching sight of it from his official car as it turned into Whitehall, wondered if it were symbolic of some similar ray of light in the political scene.

  It had been a rowdy session of Parliament. When the House had met, the news of the result of the General Assembly debate in New York was still coming in; and the Leader of the Opposition had at once asked the Prime Minister if the Government were prepared to accept the decision of the United Nations for a halt in whatever operations were contemplated in Africa.

  Taking advantage of the fact that one or two of the new African nations, still very conscious of British financial help, had voted against the resolution and that there had been one or two abstentions from Commonwealth countries not involved, the Prime Minister had replied that he needed time to study the resolution and the speeches. The Leader of the Opposition had expressed his dismay and a long bitter wrangle had followed. The General Assembly had been described as a majority which the Government in all honour had to accept, and there had been one or two speeches from the Africa Group of Government back-benchers who claimed they were sick and tired of the Opposition’s ability to side with the enemies of the country. But the Prime Minister had noticed that the speeches had been surprisingly half-hearted, and that at least one Member behind him had spoken out firmly against Stabledoor, considering that the Prime Minister’s attitude was intolerable at a time when the prestige and good name of the country had already reached the very bottom.