Right of Reply

by John Harris

  ‘We’re there!’ Welch shouted. ‘I thought it was some time tomorrow night!’

  Men bolted past both ends of the alleyway and above their heads they could hear the sound of running feet as the crew hurried to their stations, and they all reached for their weapons and hastily began to buckle on their packs.

  ‘We’ve been spotted,’ Snaith said.

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ Leach snarled. ‘Especially with us lot stuck in here.’

  There was the sound of watertight doors clanging shut then a long uneasy silence as they all listened. The running had stopped abruptly and all they could hear were the normal sounds of the ship, the deep humming from the turbines, and the creaks and sighs as she shifted in the water. For a long time they sat still, catching the smell of fresh paint and holding their breath and wondering what had happened, then Ginger cautiously put his head round the end of the alleyway. There was no one about but there didn’t appear to be any sign of alarm. A sailor in faded blues, moving expertly past the end of the cramped corridor with what appeared to be a bundle of laundry, stared at Ginger, with his helmet over his eyes and girded for battle.

  ‘What’s up, mate?’ Ginger asked.

  The sailor stopped and gazed at him, the planes of flesh on his face tinted by the red lights in the deckhead.

  ‘Ship’s cat gev birth to seven little ’uns,’ he said solemnly. ‘Been expecting it a long time. ’Ad us worried. Captain promised to let us know.’

  Ginger slipped back into the alleyway, vaguely ashamed at his alarm, and as the tension slowly relaxed, the men sat down again. The card players picked up their cards once more, unable to do anything but sit where they were and use their imagination about what was happening on deck. Suddenly, the deckhead lights went out, and the dim secondary ones came on.

  ‘’Ello, ’ello,’ Leach said. ‘’Ere it comes, brother. Eyes down for the count. Bombers probably.’

  The period of semi-darkness lasted for about a quarter of an hour then the lights came on again abruptly.

  ‘Flap off,’ Ginger observed.

  The loudspeaker started to crackle and they heard the voice of the Ship’s Captain. ‘Captain speaking,’ it said. ‘I’ll tell you what that was all about. We have bumped into the United States Eighth Fleet who have been evacuating American nationals from Khanzi. There has been an exchange of signals and the Americans have changed course. They are now out of sight. That is all.’

  There was dead silence for a moment as the loudspeaker clicked off, then Leach dropped his Sten gun with a clatter to the deck.

  ‘That’s bloody marvellous,’ he said loudly. ‘If the Yanks know we’re here, they’ll be waiting off the beaches for us. They’ve been going on about us for weeks. It’s time we called this thing off.’

  ‘You do,’ Ginger said sarcastically. ‘Enjoy yourself. Have a word with the general. I’m sure he’ll agree.’

  ‘He’ll have no option, brother,’ Leach pointed out.

  Something in his manner startled Ginger. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

  ‘Because he’ll find himself leading a bloody invasion force that won’t invade. That’s why.’

  For a long time there was silence as half-a-dozen pairs of accusing eyes fastened on Leach. After all his blowhard threats against anyone letting out the secret, it had been Leach himself who had spilled the beans.

  He became aware of the distrustful stares. ‘Well, it won’t, will it?’ he said loudly.

  Ginger studied the others, aware that he was on the threshold of a discovery but uncertain what it might be. He gave a short laugh.

  ‘Come off it,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to, if they say so.’

  ‘No, we haven’t, brother,’ Leach insisted. ‘It’s all worked out.’

  ‘Worked out? How?’

  ‘Never you mind. You ain’t heard yet, but you soon will.’

  Ginger stared at Leach, beginning to frown as a suspicion formed slowly in his mind. ‘That’s bloody mutiny,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a strike,’ Leach corrected him. ‘For better conditions. It’s been decided that, what with pay, disagreement over this here operation, and a few other things, it’s time we drew the attention of the authorities to our grievances.’

  ‘Who’s decided?’

  ‘Committees aboard ships. Strike committees.’

  Ginger stared at him for a second. He was never a clever man but he was no fool and he saw through Leach’s reply at once.

  ‘In the Army, mate, that’s mutiny,’ he insisted.

  Leach gestured. ‘You should talk,’ he shouted. ‘You were the one to start it.’

  Ginger got to his feet. ‘Listen,’ he said angrily. ‘I’ve done some bloody funny things in my time, but one thing I ’aven’t done is go in for mutiny. I’m not that daft. You can get shot for that.’

  Leach jeered. ‘Not these days, brother,’ he said. ‘And nobody can do a thing if everybody’s in it. This is political, man, not military.’

  Ginger wasn’t sure what he meant, but he wasn’t having any. ‘Well, you can count me out,’ he said.

  Snaith grinned and Malaki’s eyes brightened, but just when it seemed that in Lieutenant Jinkinson’s section at least the mood might change, Leach grasped at his last argument.

  ‘Christ, man, you started it. You turning yellow?’

  Ginger had no idea what Leach meant, and he did the only thing his limited intellect suggested to him. He drew his fist back and dropped Leach to the deck like a log.

  Immediately, the alleyway exploded into uproar. The cards went flying once more as Welch grabbed Ginger’s arms and dragged them behind him, but Ginger knew a trick worth two of that. He tucked his head down and Welch shot over his shoulders, and there was a yell as a flying boot caught Wedderburn at the side of the jaw. A fist flew and, in seconds, everyone in the alleyway was involved, elbows and boots swinging, with the deep resonant voice of Malaki coming from the other side of the turmoil.

  ‘Stop it,’ he was yelling at Ginger. ‘Stop it, man!’

  Then a single shot rang out and Malaki’s yells changed to a cry of pain, and as the turmoil came to a sudden frightened stop, there was a clatter of boots along the Starboard Alleyway and Sergeant Frensham stood framed in the end of the cross passage, his brows down, his eyes glittering with disgust.

  Nine

  Hodges and Leggo were staring at the chart of the West African coast spread on the table. With them were Group Captain Neville and Admiral Downes and they were studying the marked courses of Hodgeforce and the American Eighth Fleet which had just disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘You know what this means?’ Hodges said as he stared at the converging lines drawn by the Fleet Navigation Officer.

  ‘I can guess.’ Downes pulled a wry face.

  ‘It means the whole world’ll be alerted to what we’re up to.’

  ‘If they weren’t when Alamein sprung Pijehun a few hours back. Pijehun would inevitably signal King Boffa Port and Scepwe would call in the correspondents.’

  Hodges frowned. ‘It’s only a matter of hours before they’ll have this, too, as confirmation,’ he said. ‘There’s not the slightest element of surprise left.’

  ‘There never was,’ Downes said. ‘They’ve been debating it at UNO for weeks.’

  Neville frowned at the chart. ‘After what the Americans have been saying about us,’ he commented, ‘I’m surprised they got out of our way so easily.’

  Hodges moved restlessly across the cabin and stopped at the porthole, staring through the streaming glass. The rain storms kept persisting, bringing stifling heat and making life miserable for the lookouts and deck parties. If it persisted, it could even interfere seriously with the landing.

  There was a knock at the door, and the Signal Lieutenant-Commander appeared. He handed a signal to Downes who glanced at it and passed it on to Hodges. The general stared at the decoded transcription with a frown, and looked up at Downes.

  ‘You know what it’s all about?’ he aske
d.

  Downes nodded. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said.

  ‘It’s an answer to my signal of yesterday to the Chief of Defence Staff,’ Hodges said. ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘I have. Yes.’

  ‘The Leader of the Opposition’s refused to withdraw anything.’ Hodges placed the signal on the table. ‘Where this puts us, I don’t know. We’re due to go in, in about thirty-six hours’ time. Everything’s organised, even the final meals on board. I had hoped to be able to cancel it all. This means that I can’t.’

  Hodges bent over the charts to hide the worry in his eyes and Neville gestured angrily.

  ‘I suppose he’s ambitious and sees a chance of office,’ he said bitterly. ‘Because if this thing falls on its face in front of Scepwe’s troops, the Government’ll be out of office so fast their feet won’t touch the floor.’ He pushed at a signal sheet on the table that had come in a few hours before. ‘This is how this blasted operation’s been shaped, sir,’ he said angrily, picking it up. ‘“No gun of greater calibre than four-point-five inches to be fired.” I suppose it’s important that we can claim we’ve only killed Khansians with four-fives instead of six-inchers.’

  Hodges opened a file and took out another signal. ‘Take a look at this one,’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s originated later than that. I haven’t had the courage to pass it out yet.’

  Neville took the sheet, glanced at it, and tossed it down on the table. He stared at Downes, shocked. ‘Did you know of this, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘They have a habit of going through a ship,’ Downes admitted. ‘I’d be a poor admiral if I didn’t.’

  ‘But, good God, no bombardment!’ Neville sounded shocked. ‘They’re expecting us now to send the chaps in against a defended beach without support. They must be mad, sir,’ he said, swinging round on Hodges. ‘Those damned politicians are playing for votes and opinions! They’ve seen what the people at home and in the rest of the world think about Stabledoor and they think they can wipe the slate clean by doing the job without killing any of the enemy.’

  ‘I’ve asked London to clarify,’ Hodges pointed out quietly. ‘If I receive no answer, I shall disregard it. Bombardment means firing at fixed targets. What we shall be doing is giving naval gunfire support, which is different. It’s a nice distinction, but I shall stick to it. I’ll take full responsibility.’ He smiled. ‘We have therefore cancelled the bombardment but we shall carry on with gunfire support.’

  He paused and looked at Downes. ‘Do we still have our Russian friends with us?’ he asked.

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Oughtn’t we to take precautions?’

  ‘We’ve taken ’em. I’ve given orders to the commanding officers of all ships that gun crews and depth-charge parties be kept closed up. We’re watching them. There’s only one thing…’

  Hodges knew what was coming.

  ‘…If they attempt to interfere…’ Downes stopped and looked at Hodges, faintly apologetic. ‘This is your pigeon, Horace, I’m afraid. Do we poop off at them?’

  Hodges paused for a second before replying. ‘If they attempt to interfere,’ he said, ‘we do.’

  Downes nodded. ‘You know what that could mean, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. But my orders are unequivocal. There are no “ifs” or “buts”. If anyone attempts to stop us, we remove them.’

  ‘Even if it could result in escalation?’

  ‘Even if it could result in that.’

  They were still arguing when the telephone rang. Leggo answered it, then he turned and looked at Hodges.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ Hodges snapped.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s trouble, sir. It’s a signal from Banff. It seems somebody aboard her has turned up some sort of plot among the troops to halt Stabledoor on the beaches!’

  Hodges frowned. ‘What the hell do you mean, Stuart?’

  ‘It seems there’s been some sort of uproar aboard and they’ve got it out of one of the men involved. Colonel Drucquer reported it. It was passed on to him by one of his officers.’

  ‘Let’s have Drucquer over here,’ Hodges snapped. ‘And the officer who turned it up, and anyone else who might know something about it.’ He turned to Downes. ‘Can we arrange that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Helicopter?’

  ‘Much cheaper for second-class passengers. Highline.’

  ‘Right. Let’s have them, please.’

  The tannoy system was booming as Banff came alongside. She had come up astern, white foam bursting out round her fantail as her ninety-thousand horsepower beat in reverse to cut her speed.

  There was a great deal of cursing and the booming of the loudhailer as the Officer-on-Deck chased his men into action. Banff’s rolling and pitching were quicker and more erratic than Leopard’s but her approach was fast and confident. At close quarters from his position on the bridge, Hodges could see her hull marked in several places where the undercoating had come through the grey to form ugly red sores among the rust streaks along her sides. In spite of her age and her scars, however, she was being well-handled and gave an impression of tremendous power and efficiency, and he could hear, above the sounds of Leopard all around him, the eager throbbing from her engine rooms and the roaring of her blowers, almost like the panting of a hurrying animal. Faces peered through the windscreen of the bridge, clad in oilskins against the beating rain, and there were a couple of cooks, in white, oblivious to the weather, standing on the afterdeck among the clustered khaki of gaping soldiers staring at the cruiser.

  Banff had drawn slightly ahead of Leopard now and was waiting there, a hundred feet away, easing her speed to match that of the bigger ship. The wash of the two vessels was smashed into irregular wave patterns, the tips meeting awkwardly and leaping up in erratic splashes that were promptly flattened by the rain, the oily sea between the ships a churning millrace as they slowly closed the distance between them until they were only forty feet apart and the revolving radar antennae on the mast of the destroyer threatened to foul the bigger ship’s superstructure. Messenger lines snaked across and the men leaning against the rain on the foredeck moved expertly to secure them and haul the highline over.

  As the sea hissed and pounded at the steel plates, Hodges recognised Colonel Drucquer standing with another officer on Banff’s foredeck, then the straps were pulled tight round Drucquer’s thighs and he swung clear as the blocks creaked and whined on the wire above his head. He dangled awkwardly as he moved over the churning water like a rag doll, his face turned up to the bridge of Leopard, looking for Hodges, while the two ships ploughed on through the swells, the bigger vessel heaving gracefully, the smaller one snapping at the water with the irritable action of a young dog.

  ‘Have Colonel Drucquer brought at once to my cabin, please,’ Hodges said.

  The bosun’s chair had already returned to Banff for the second officer by the time Hodges had moved through the watertight doorway and begun to descend to his cabin. Along the horizon, banks of low cloud heavy with rain still compressed the heat down on them and the loudhailer sounded like a clap of thunder as the second transfer was completed.

  ‘Stand by to release gear! But please remain close for the retransfer of personnel!’

  The end of the rig was cast off and allowed to fall clear and the destroyer began at once to pull ahead and veer away until she held station slightly abaft the beam and on the same course as Leopard.

  It was a few minutes before Drucquer arrived in Hodges’ cabin and he was able to glance at a sheaf of radio news reports handed to him by Fraschetti and Lyall. Through the open door, he could hear the faint ping of sonar and a steady crackle of Morse somewhere down the corridor, mingling with the monotonous calls of the telephone talker from the wheelhouse. Riffling through the reports, Hodges saw that the United Nations was in an uproar over Stabledoor, and the United States delegate had refused to speak to the British representative, an unprecedented thing in an organisation where personal dislike, either between i
ndividuals or countries, was not allowed to interfere with free communi-cation.

  An attempt was also being made by several Afro-Asian countries to make capital out of the crisis by rousing their sympathisers to declare war on Britain, and the coming and going seemed to be reaching the state almost of despair as the prospects of a world conflagration grew stronger. Whatever the instructions of the people in London, it wasn’t to Hodges’ taste to be the man to pull the trigger that might set it off.

  Admiral Downes appeared, his face grim, then there was a tap on the door and Leggo opened it. Drucquer entered. His face looked grave and his uniform was soaked.

  ‘Good evening, Alastair,’ Hodges said. ‘Get wet?’

  Drucquer smiled. ‘Only the rain, sir.’

  ‘What’s it all about?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s trouble, General,’ Drucquer said. ‘Worse than we expected. One of the sergeants attached to my people found it.’

  ‘Let’s have it.’

  ‘It seems there’s some sort of movement afoot to halt the operation by refusing duty.’

  Hodges lit a cigarette slowly and held out the packet to Drucquer who shook his head.

  ‘What sort of movement?’ Hodges asked.

  ‘I’m still a bit uncertain. But it seems to stem from those pamphlets we turned up. I’m not sure who’s behind it but there was a fight on Banff and the sergeant walked in on it. In itself a fight might not have raised the alarm – a black eye’s not much to worry about – but some fool shot off his Sten gun by accident in the scuffle and an NCO got hit.’

  ‘Badly?’

  ‘It’s a nasty place to stop one, but the docs say he’ll pull through, although he’s lost a lot of blood.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve got the officer of ACT5 outside. I brought him with me. He’s attached to us. It was his sergeant who walked in on the fight and he was the man who talked to the injured NCO He’s a good man not given to flapping. He’s the chap who turned up that suitcase full of pamphlets at Pepul.’