by John Harris
The Prime Minister frowned, rebuffed by the remarks. ‘I don’t agree with you,’ he commented gruffly.
The Foreign Secretary was not put off and continued relentlessly. ‘I’m sorry about that, Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the Chancellor of the Exchequer can enlarge upon it.’
The Prime Minister waved a hand and the Chancellor moved forward and opened his briefcase. The Prime Minister eyed him with suspicion. He had a strong feeling that, like the Home Secretary, he too was close to the Foreign Secretary and that they were all working behind his back to ease him out of office. He only partly heard what the Chancellor was saying.
‘Sterling area’s gold and dollar reserves have declined during the past three weeks by seventy-five million dollars,’ he was pointing out. ‘That, Prime Minister, is greater by the week than at the time of Suez, and there are menacing signs of a “flight from the pound”.’
He unfolded a pink sheet and glanced at it.
‘The financial structure of this country,’ he said, ‘makes us very vulnerable to political events and the impact on our reserves is immediate and substantial. And the world’s determined to show its reaction to what we’re doing through sterling. There’s one other thing…’
They all looked up.
‘As you know, Prime Minister,’ the Chancellor continued, ‘we have for a long time been bolstering up our economy with loans from America and Switzerland and the International Bank. I’ve now been informed from Washington that the United States can no longer see her way clear to continue to lend us money and is accordingly stopping the next instalments. She claims that what she has already lent us was for redeploying our industry and to help us over our monetary crisis, and that we have no right to use it to make war.’
‘We haven’t used a penny of it to make war!’
‘You know that, Prime Minister. I know that. But the rest of the world will accept what the Americans say. They also say they will recommend to the International Bank that they, too, should freeze all loans to us.’
‘Unless we stop Stabledoor?’
‘Yes. The ethical, moral, political and legal issues no longer predominate, Prime Minister. Whatever we like to think, whatever we like to tell the world, it’s become an issue of finance that could smash us.’
‘The Malalans will never agree to calling the thing off,’ Starke said.
‘On the contrary, Prime Minister,’ the Foreign Secretary interrupted, ‘I’ve just been informed that they may even withdraw.’
Starke looked up quickly. ‘Withdraw? From Stabledoor?’ It was like a blow in the face.
‘That’s my information,’ the Foreign Secretary said. ‘The Americans are tempting them with their offer of a loan, and they’re under heavy pressure from the African states. I can’t see how they can refuse.’
‘They can’t back out now!’
‘They can, Prime Minister,’ the Foreign Secretary insisted calmly. ‘Indeed, I think they will. The Afro-Asian bloc’s strong nowadays and support’s growing for them even among those states which have been supporting us. They could crush Braka economically. He needs an American loan and he needs the goodwill of the countries round him. He can’t refuse.’
Starke sat for a moment, thinking, then he fought back strongly against the tide of opposition. ‘I still feel a fait accompli would be accepted,’ he said. ‘Can’t we ask Carey again to withdraw?’
The Chief of Defence Staff tapped his long forefinger on a signal sheet that lay in front of him.
‘Prime Minister,’ he said harshly, speaking for the first time. ‘It’s suddenly no longer a matter of finance or approval or speed. I’ve been listening to what’s been said in the hope that it would influence decisions. Since it hasn’t, I would like to put my spoke in. Hodges has signalled that Stabledoor has a good chance of ending in disaster.’
Starke couldn’t believe him, not after all the effort he’d put into the operation. ‘Surely he’s exaggerating,’ he said.
‘I don’t think he is, Prime Minister. Consider the facts.’ The Chief of Defence Staff’s face was merciless. ‘We know,’ he said, ‘that Hajaian volunteers are standing by near the border ready to move over as soon as the barriers are removed, and air reconnaissance photographs show Migs lined wing-tip to wing-tip on the airfields in Tasia. We also have information that others have moved down to Atcha, only twenty minutes’ flying time from King Boffa Port, which means, in addition to the eighty aircraft we believe they’ve got, Scepwe will be able to call on an additional fifty operational Migs and some forty pilots capable of operating the older and slower jets they got from us. Against this, Malala can produce a few old French jets and American F84s, twelve Ouragans and twenty-five piston-driven aircraft. Within striking distance, we have seventy Storms, twenty-five Hecates and twenty-five V90s. That’s not a crushing superiority.’
‘It ought to be enough.’
The Chief of Defence Staff looked furious, as though he considered the Prime Minister was blinding himself to facts.
‘One minute, Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘There are also, as I’ve reported, at least two – we think three to five – Russian submarines shadowing the convoy. The Director of Naval Operations suspects there are at least ten others within calling distance, and what’s more, as I’ve already told you, Hodges’ Chief-of-Staff’s come up with a whole new set of figures on Scepwe’s military set-up that seems to suggest we’ve been badly let down by Intelligence. We could be humiliated.’
Starke moved restlessly in his chair. ‘Surely this is the calculated risk we must take,’ he said. ‘If we get the troops ashore quickly, all these support forces’ll be too late to offer help.’
‘If we get the troops ashore quickly,’ the Chief of Defence Staff said. ‘I wouldn’t like to be Hodges.’
The Prime Minister knew exactly what the Chief of Defence Staff was talking about. If things went wrong there’d be a search for a scapegoat and inevitably it would be Hodges. It would have to be.
‘Have you further information?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Yes. Looks like out-and-out mutiny to me, Prime Minister, and if Stabledoor collapses because of it, you, Prime Minister, are very much involved. Your reputation depends on this as much as mine and Hodges’, because your Cabinet, sir, ordered us to set it up.’
It was out now. The Prime Minister looked at the Chief of Defence Staff with something approaching hatred, then he noticed that there was a similar look to the soldier’s in the eyes of the Home Secretary and the Foreign Secretary and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he realised with clarity that unless he were clever, his days were numbered.
‘Foreign Secretary,’ he said. ‘Have you had any further reports of foreign reactions?’
‘Not very happy ones, Prime Minister.’ The Foreign Secretary seemed uneasy. ‘Our people in Vienna say there’s been a bonfire in the Soviet Embassy courtyard for a couple of days. Listening stations report that the Soviet early warning radar lines have been brought up to the highest state of alert, and that the volume of military electronics traffic has trebled across the Warsaw Pact countries. Nuclear weapons have been moved from the north of China to the south, and, although it may be bluff, we understand that fifty thousand officers of the Soviet Reserve have volunteered for service in Africa.’
The Prime Minister looked at the Chief of Defence Staff. ‘How much of this does Hodges know?’ he asked.
‘None. He’s probably formed his own opinion but we’ve told him nothing.’
‘Why not?’
The Chief of Defence Staff didn’t answer and the implications were obvious. He had begun to hope that Stabledoor would be called off.
The Foreign Secretary’s quiet voice broke in on the Prime Minister’s thoughts.
‘Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘The most serious question facing us is really whether this operation can be morally justified any longer. To prolong it might invite drastic intervention by the Soviets and the United States.’
&
nbsp; The Prime Minister felt crushed.
‘President Ghaniri has sent a personal message to the American President proposing, with Afro-Asian support, that the United States Eighth Fleet be sent to King Boffa Port at once as the beginning of a United Nations Force, to enforce the resolutions of the General Assembly. Scepwe’s said he’ll probably allow United States Marines to land, but at the same time he’s appealed for volunteers from any nation that, to quote him, “believes in the cause of freedom and justice”. He’s suggested they should enlist at Khanzian embassies for service in Khanzi.’
‘Bluff,’ the Prime Minister snapped. ‘They can’t get to Khanzi with us outside King Boffa Port and you know as well as I do that both the United States, France and Canada have made an announcement that anybody who enlists for service with Khanzi could lose his citizenship. They’re determined not to be involved.’
‘“Not to take sides” is nearer, Prime Minister,’ the Foreign Secretary corrected. ‘We’ve had reports that the Russians have already asked the Turks for permission to pass a naval force through the Dardanelles.’
‘The thing would be over before they could get there.’
The Chief of Defence Staff stood up and threw down his papers. He seemed to tower above the Prime Minister.
‘Not if Hodges is held up by his own troops,’ he snapped. ‘And it looks now as though he might be.’
Part Three
One
General Hodges had summoned all his senior officers to his cabin aboard Leopard and they sat now round the long table, restless, uneasy and caught by a dozen different apprehensions.
Nobody seemed anxious to stir up more trouble than they had on their hands already, and a suggested attempt to weed out the mutineers had been quickly talked down on the grounds that it would only bring matters to a head more quickly.
To Hodges it seemed that everyone was hoping their reprieve would come not from themselves but from London, but he also knew that, quite apart from what was decided at Westminster, it was still his duty as a commander to make sure that he didn’t lose control of his forces long before that.
‘Anything we do must be done quickly,’ he said. ‘And we must decide at once what it is to be. Although all the evidence seems to suggest that though what refusal there is to be is to be orderly and not violent, we still have to accept that an isolated incident could spark off physical resistance which could escalate into something very unpleasant.’
‘General’ – Dixon spoke – ‘we don’t suspect trouble from the Marines or the Guards. Surely, if they’re sent in, the rest of Hodgeforce won’t refuse to follow them.’
Hodges wasn’t so sure and now, having heard the arguments, he made up his mind swiftly.
‘Officers,’ he said, ‘must be warned what to expect and they must be prepared to arrest all disaffected troops at once, agitators in particular being dealt with immediately. Since we don’t know yet which troops are the disaffected ones, there’s not very much we can do until they show their hand, but on each ship there are companies of Guardsmen and Marines and tankmen. Reliable men under reliable NCOs and officers must be told off to stand ready at the first sign of disobedience. All seditious troops must be disarmed at once. There is to be no equivocation and no hesitation. They are not to be given the benefit of the doubt.
‘Revolver racks are to be emptied where ships carry revolver racks and, since we can’t empty the ready-use lockers, officers are to be placed discreetly as sentries over them and over the keyboards where the keys to the magazines are kept. Since we’re expecting to use these magazines, officers will have to use their common sense about what to do. Officers are to make an attempt to talk to the men wherever possible. Only the NCOs of the Guards, the Marines and the Tank Regiments are to be informed what is happening and why they are being asked to do what will be requested of them.’
He turned to Leggo. ‘Stuart, I’d like you to prepare a statement for the Press. Nobody’s asked anything yet but I’ve noticed some funny looks in the wardroom and I suspect they may already have been warned by the stewards of what’s in the wind. Eventually they’re bound to ask questions and we must be ready for them. I’d like you to be as vague as possible without telling any untruths.’
Dixon looked up again. He suddenly looked nervous.
‘And the invasion, General?’
Hodges sighed. He could just imagine the shambles that would ensue if men were withdrawn from reliable key units to keep an eye on unreliable troops, and the chaos that would result from any attempt to disarm whole sections, while the landing was actually taking place. There wasn’t the faintest chance of success for Stabledoor but, with his orders as categoric as they were, he also could see no alternative. He drew a deep breath.
‘Ship’s captains are to be approached discreetly and asked to put storerooms, lockers, et cetera, at our disposal, in case of mass arrests. There must be no doubt in the minds of commanding officers, and any officers who argue are to be relieved of their commands at once. As for invasion…’
He paused. There had been no alteration in the plan from London, and he could hardly resign his command in disgust and let it take care of itself. He saw Dixon’s eyes on him accusingly.
‘As for the invasion,’ he said again. ‘Stabledoor will proceed as ordered.’
In the cells deep in the hull of Banff, Ginger Bowen stared with distaste at Leach, Wedderburn, McKechnie and Snaith who were sharing his little corner of the ship’s bowels. Not being unfamiliar with his surroundings and far more at home under lock and key than the others, he was far less troubled by the fact that he was under arrest than he was by the fact that he felt for once he had done nothing to warrant being there,
Inevitably, Frensham and Captain White had not attempted to separate the innocent from the guilty, but had marched up the Military Police and a squad of Guardsmen under the biggest sergeant-major Ginger had ever seen, and every occupant of the Starboard Cross Passage was now under guard. Since there were not sufficient cells for all of them and it had been felt necessary to isolate them from the rest of the ship, they had been stuffed into rope stores and chain lockers, and they now sat around, gloomy, depressed and covered with dust and grease.
‘For God’s sake, man,’ Sergeant O’Mara had said bitterly, staring at Ginger as he’d arrived. ‘After all I did to avoid it, too!’
Nobody in Ginger’s cell felt much like talking and there had been no apportioning of blame, but the distrust was mixed with dislike and a certain amount of despair. They were low enough in the ship to feel the pulse of the propeller shaft and they could see no sign of what was going on above deck. Occasionally, as someone opened a door along the corridor, they felt a draught of warm air and occasionally they heard the sound of men moving outside, but for the most part they were cut off from the rest of the ship – and they felt it.
‘Perhaps it’s as well it happened the way it did,’ Wedderburn said heavily. ‘They say the bastards back in London have ordered that we’re not to use anything bigger than a machine gun when we go ashore.’
Inevitably the signals to Hodgeforce, passed out quietly by the radio operators in the darkened corridors during a hasty visit to the heads and spread around the ships, had become garbled in their passage through the fleet. And though no one really believed Wedderburn’s version, there was no question but that everyone – even at the lowest levels – felt that the heavy hand of politics lay across the operation, depriving it of life and throttling whatever chance it had of success.
Ginger Bowen said nothing. In a way, he wasn’t sorry he was where he was. Quite apart from the Guardsman outside the door – who looked at them as though they were something he had picked up on the sole of his boot and seemed more than prepared, if necessary, to use on them the Sten gun he carried under his arm – from what he could make out, whatever it was that Stabledoor was intending to do, it had had little chance of success from the start, and it was perhaps a good idea to be out of it in the bowels of the ship whe
n the rubbish started flying. Nevertheless, he felt a profound resentment that he was back in his old haunts without good reason. In spite of his disgust at his earlier punishments, he had never previously felt they were anybody’s fault but his own.
Only one of the men in the cell seemed not to have lost faith. Private Leach stirred on the iron bunk where he was lounging, his eyes bitter and frustrated.
‘They’ll never get the blokes out of the ships,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Not now. It’ll just stiffen the resistance.’
‘I’d like to stiffen you lot,’ Ginger said bitterly. ‘Mutiny,’ he went on, his voice shocked. ‘You ought to be bloody well ashamed of yourselves.’
Leach ignored him, still concerned for the plan that had been evolved at the meeting on the football field behind the canteen at Pepul. The replacement of the acquiescent captain of Duck had presented difficulties among the organisers, and the decision to force the ship to turn back to Pepul had removed most of the brains behind the plot, but he still had faith that the rest of the men in Hodgeforce were behind what had been decided.
Wedderburn lifted his eyes to Ginger, moving them heavily as though he were sick.
‘O’Mara said Joe Malaki had been talking,’ he pointed out.
‘What’s it matter?’ Leach jeered. ‘There are twenty thousand men on these ships, brother. A few Guardsmen can’t force that lot to go over the sides.’
‘I’d go over,’ Ginger said earnestly, ‘if I had a Guards sergeant-major like that bloke outside poking his Sten gun up my jacksie.’
There was silence at his remark because even Leach realised that, under the same circumstances, even he might conform.
‘They’ll never make ’em fight,’ he said.
They eyed each other for a moment, because they were all well aware of the chaos that would ensue.
