The Greatest Enemy Read online

  ‘Good.’ Dalziel held out his hand. It was dry and surprisingly hard. ‘Good,’ he said again.

  As he glanced casually around the busy upper deck Standish studied him carefully. Dalziel was slim, even wiry, and would have been tall but for a slight stoop which gave him a strangely eager, thrusting appearance. But his face really interested him. It was, like the walking-stick, old-fashioned. There was no other description for it. His hair was brushed straight back from his forehead, neat and apparently impervious to the slowly revolving helicopter blades, and his deepset brown eyes were separated by a hawkish, finely cut nose, which again added to the general impression of alertness. His hair was quite dark, but the longish sideburns, which looked as if they were trimmed daily with a cut-throat razor, were grey, the colour of gunmetal.

  He realized with a start that Dalziel had turned slightly and the eyes had swivelled to watch him with the same interested perusal he had used on the supply ship.

  Standish said quickly, ‘I’ll take you aboard, sir. I’m sorry about the mess. We were ordered to take on stores, and …’

  Dalziel lifted his hat slightly. ‘Think nothing of it, Number One. I didn’t expect a guard of honour or an iced cake at such short notice, eh?’ He laughed lightly, his mouth opening just a little as he added, ‘I know what it’s like. Oh yes, I know!’

  At the guardrail he paused and stared down at the slow-moving activity beneath one of the derricks.

  ‘Smart ship, Standish.’ His sleek head nodded vigorously. ‘No doubt about that!’

  Standish glanced at him quickly. ‘Terrapin is the outboard ship, sir.’

  Dalziel ran lightly down the ladder and brushed between the other frigate’s O.O.D. and some sweating seamen. At the opposite side he paused again, and Standish saw a small muscle moving busily at one corner of his tight mouth.

  Surely Dalziel must have known what Terrapin was really like?

  He followed his stare and saw his ship for what seemed like the first time. In dock you never saw any vessel at her best, but now, viewed from the upper deck of her larger consort the Terrapin looked even worse.

  Seen from a distance it would still be possible to admire and appreciate the grace and simplicity of her lines. But close-to the reverse was equally apparent. From her raked stem to her narrow, delicate stern there was hardly an inch of her three hundred odd feet which had not gathered some scar or blemish to mark the passing of her years of service. Her outline was neat, even austere when compared with the newer frigates and all their attendant clutter of radar and sophisticated detecting gear, and with her square, tiered bridge and single funnel she had over the years retained a kind of jaunty defiance, like a tried veteran in a world of overtrained, overweight recruits.

  Standish waited for Dalziel to move. He could see Pigott fidgeting nervously under the captain’s cold scrutiny, the hastily assembled side-party looking strangely alien in their white shorts against the background of crates and half-naked seamen, the latter seemingly still unaware of Dalziel’s arrival.

  Dalziel walked instead towards the bows. The flared forecastles of the two frigates curved away to display more of the Terrapin’s ravages, the streaks of rust beneath her hawsepipes, the deep dents by her stem where she had nudged jetties, or her officers had once or twice misjudged a buoy or another ship.

  Standish said, ‘Of course she’s pretty old, sir.’

  Dalziel twisted slightly and looked at him. ‘So?’

  ‘I just meant, sir, that it’s hard to see what could be done to keep her in line with newer ships.’

  Surprisingly Dalziel grinned. He did not merely smile, the grin spread right across his face until his mouth seemed to join with the two neat sideburns.

  He said, ‘Well, we’ll just have to change things a bit, eh?’ He pointed with his stick, the motion jabbing like a swordthrust. ‘Look at the state of those signal halliards, for instance. They don’t need painting, do they? They just need to be taut, like the ship, eh?’ The grin vanished. ‘Can’t abide slackness, you know. To me, a slack ship is about as much use as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.’

  He strode briskly towards the break in the guardrails and clambered down the short brow to the Terrapin’s deck.

  Pigott saluted and the pipes shrilled in recognition.

  Dalziel waited for the din to cease and then said, ‘Your name?’

  ‘Pigott, sir. Supply and victualling officer.’

  ‘Good.’ Dalziel glanced around him. ‘You are also officer of the day, right?’

  ‘Sir.’ Pigott glanced anxiously at Standish.

  ‘So.’ Dalziel smiled gently. ‘Next time I come aboard I want the hands at attention, right? All the hands on deck at that particular moment in time.’ He looked at Standish. ‘Just another small point, Number One.’ But he was still smiling.

  Then he saw the ship’s bell and walked slowly towards it. No-one moved or spoke as he examined it with infinite care.

  Standish found that his hands were tightly clenched in the presence of this extraordinary man. What was wrong now? Was the brass smudged or unpolished? The bellrope frayed or the whipping gone?

  Dalziel turned and looked at him, his deepset eyes distant and strangely sad.

  Then he said slowly, ‘It really makes you think, doesn’t it, Number One? To see this bell. All those years. All those sea-miles under her keel. The officers and men she’s made or broken.’ He shook his head. ‘It makes you feel almost humble.’

  Across Dalziel’s shoulder Standish saw Pigott’s earlier anxiety giving way to something like astonishment.

  He replied quickly, ‘As I remarked earlier, sir, she’s an old ship.’

  ‘Quite. And if she needs extra care it is because she has earned it, eh?’ He looked round briskly, the moment of humility past. ‘Cabin?’

  ‘Follow me, sir.’ To Pigott he added, ‘You can carry on with the loading now.’

  Pigott watched them go and then said, ‘Humble?’ He looked at the quartermaster. ‘This ship?’

  Then with a sigh he walked forward to watch the men at the slings.

  * * *

  Rex Standish paused outside the captain’s day cabin and found time to wonder at the speed with which the day had passed. It was evening, and a small welcome breeze made the moored ship nudge gently at her fenders and felt its way between decks to clear away the oppressive heat of the day.

  He tucked the clean shirt more firmly into his shorts, his mind going back over the day, and more precisely the afternoon of Dalziel’s first few hours of command.

  The captain had remained in his own quarters, but had sent out a stream of instructions, not least of which had been concerned with his personal luggage. The latter had arrived offshore by way of the supply ship’s helicopter, and Standish had stood with Pigott as the small duty part of the watch had struggled back and forth along the brow with cases and metal trunks of every size and weight. Whatever anyone else imagined about the future, Dalziel obviously expected a long stay in his new command.

  Now, at long last, the Terrapin was quiet again. Apart from the duty hands the rest of her company were either ashore or comfortably settled aboard the supply ship with other off-duty personnel to watch a Western in the big vessel’s cinema, or to squander some of their pay at tombola.

  He tapped at the door and almost jumped as Dalziel’s voice replied instantly, ‘Come!’

  When he stepped over the coaming it was difficult to realize that it was the same place as before. Only the armchairs and carpets appeared familiar, and the rest of the captain’s day cabin seemed to be covered with open boxes, parcels of books and uniforms which hung from every available projection like wares in a Cairo bazaar.

  Dalziel was seated behind the table, all of which was equally well covered by papers, signal files, publications and a portable typewriter. He had changed into uniform, and his crisp white shirt and gleaming shoulder straps seemed to contrast violently with the litter and confusion around him.
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br />   He gestured towards a chair. ‘Clear that gear off there and sit while I finish this report.’ He skimmed down the next sheet of paper as Standish seated himself opposite the table, and then added, ‘That was a good lunch you sent down, Number One, but too much of it. Can’t abide fatty foods. Makes you sluggish!’

  He scribbled some notes on an open pad which Standish had not noticed before and then leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Well, Number One, that’s about it for the first day.’ He pulled a slim gold case from his pocket and lit a cigarette. ‘I’m not offering you one. You’re a pipe man, right?’ He gestured with his gold case. ‘Light up and puff away. This place is like a sty as it is. A bit more smoke won’t hurt any.’

  Standish looked round guardedly. The long talks he had had in here with Mitford. The confidences and the regained hopes. Now under Dalziel’s brief dismissal it did indeed look both shabby and in need of a new paint job.

  Dalziel said abruptly, ‘I would normally speak to all my officers immediately upon joining ship. However, as the duty board tells me that everyone but the ship’s cat is ashore, there isn’t much point in it.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, sir. But we had orders to lie alongside the supply ship until tomorrow. We did not know about your appointment, and I thought it fair to let the hands ashore.’ He paused. ‘And the officers.’

  ‘Quite.’ Dalziel regarded him calmly. ‘Not blaming you at all. Anyway, it has given me time to go more fully into the ship’s state before I meet them, eh? To assess the situation, so to speak.’

  ‘Sir?’

  Dalziel puffed out a thin stream of smoke and watched as it was whipped upwards into the fan. ‘A captain and his first lieutenant are a team. Must be. Usually one starts in a ship before the other, unless of course that ship is just being commissioned, in which case it’s all hands to the pumps.’ Again that slow smile, as if he was remembering another time and another place. ‘Now take this ship, the frigate Terrapin. Rather a different set of circumstances all round, wouldn’t you say?’

  Standish tried to relax, but Dalziel’s cool, unruffled tones seemed to be hiding something.

  He replied, ‘I agree, sir.’

  ‘Good. I know, for instance, that although you are the ship’s executive officer you have been aboard only six weeks, mostly in dock, and for the same period in a state of flux.’ He grinned. ‘Otherwise I’d not be sitting here yarning like the proverbial Dutch uncle.’ He stubbed out the cigarette and studied him evenly. ‘For, as you well know, this ship is a disgrace.’ There was no anger in his voice, merely the patient disapproval of a schoolmaster. ‘It is dirty and badly maintained. The hands, what I have seen of them, are nothing to be proud of. Their appearance alone is enough to make you weep. If they look like that, they must have torn and slovenly minds also, right?’

  Standish stared at him. ‘I … that is, we all thought the ship was being paid off, sir. Bob often said …’

  ‘Bob?’ One syllable, but as sharp as a knife.

  ‘I mean Lieutenant-Commander Mitford. I’m sorry, sir.’ He felt suddenly angry under Dalziel’s impassive gaze. ‘We were both the same rank, I suppose it made a difference at the time.’

  Dalziel nodded absently and turned over two sheets of paper.

  ‘Mitford. Yes.’ He nodded again. ‘Liver complaint. Drink, probably.’

  Standish half rose to his feet. ‘I must say that he was very good to me, sir. I always found him …’

  Dalziel said, ‘Let me finish.’ He smiled gently. ‘I did not know him, so I can only judge from present facts. This ship, any ship under the White Ensign, has to be ready for anything, even if she is going to be paid off in one hour’s time. And the more thinly spread our resources become, the more important it is to keep each and every unit at first-line readiness.’ His voice lifted slightly. ‘Anything less than that grade is sub-standard in my book, and I do not intend to let it happen in this ship, even if the previous captain was a cousin of the Pope and had the sun shining out of his backside, right?’

  Standish sat back dazedly. ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Dalziel relaxed and turned over some more papers. ‘We are going to see a lot of each other in the future, and we will be working hand in glove to make this ship come alive again.’ He paused and then added, ‘So we had better get off on the right course, eh?’

  He stood up and walked to one of the open scuttles. Standish could see the fading sunlight reflecting on his face like gold, could almost feel the man’s energy like a living force.

  Dalziel said suddenly, ‘You know, I love the Navy. Always have. Strange really, as I come of an army family. My father, bless him, was a general, and I spent most of my boyhood being shunted from one damn garrison town to another. But I knew what I wanted, and once in the Service I have never found occasion to doubt my calling.’ He sighed. ‘As you know, you meet all sorts. The ambitious and the failures. The loved and the hated. A real potmess of a mixture.’ He swung round and stared at Standish, his eyes alight with sudden excitement. ‘But they all go to make the team, Number One. The Service is the thing, and not the mere individuals who come and go with the years.’

  Overhead a tannoy speaker intoned dully, ‘Duty part of the watch fall in. Able Seaman Dolan muster at the quartermaster’s lobby.’

  Dalziel smiled slightly. ‘You see? It goes on forever.’ He crossed to the table again and continued in a crisper tone, ‘I was in America a few years ago on a NATO course. While I was there I saw a whole herd of cattle on the move. All over the plains and the hills, there seemed to be millions of them, and only a practised eye and a firm hand could control them and keep them on course.’ He tapped the table sharply. ‘And when the drive was over, all that effort, all that spectacle was nicely compressed and labelled into uniform tins of beef! And that is how I want my ship. Tight and snug inside this hull, so that the whole thing has both purpose and function, right?’

  Standish put down his pipe. He had made two attempts to fill it, but this last appraisal of the Terrapin’s role made further efforts pointless.

  He said quietly, ‘I don’t know much about the ship’s company yet, sir. But I am sure they will do their best …’

  Dalziel nodded. ‘I said earlier that we must get off on the right course. So let us drop the pretence. You know this ship is a mess, so do I. What you may not realize is that it will be asked to play an essential part in Far East strategy, and at any moment now.’ He smiled. ‘I thought that’d shake you!’

  Standish looked at the littered table. ‘It does, sir.’

  ‘Of course, nothing is completely settled yet, but I’m getting my orders tomorrow. While I’m ashore with the admiral you can get the hands to work.’ He pulled a typewritten sheet from the paperweight and handed it across. ‘This will give you something to go on with. When the leading writer comes aboard I’ll want him to type out my new standing orders, too. And I’ll need every officer to read and known them by heart.’ He shot him a quick glance. ‘How well do you know them?’

  Standish looked away, feeling the rising helplessness again, yet unable to control it.

  ‘Not too well yet, sir.’ It sounded like an admission. And it was.

  Dalziel smiled. ‘Not to worry. We’ll soon change that.’ He perched himself on the edge of the table and added evenly, ‘So let’s begin with you, eh?’ He did not wait for Standish to speak but said, ‘You had a command of your own it seems. The submarine Electra. You were transferred to general service last year following a fire aboard your boat in which several men lost their lives.’

  Standish stared at him but saw nothing but a swirling mist. Like smoke. Like that day, which should have been like all the others. A simple dive within three miles of Portland Bill, to act as ‘target’ for some frigates which were undergoing anti-submarine training. The exercise should have lasted an hour, but within a few minutes of its completion the fire had broken out in the fore-ends. A new type of signal flare was to have been discharged from
a torpedo tube to signify the finish and to mark their position at the end of the run.

  How it had started was not clear, but within seconds the torpedo space had turned into a raging inferno.

  At the court of enquiry he had not only been praised for his efforts, but had in due course received the George Cross for his personal bravery.

  He still did not know why he had gone to try and get those men out. It had been pointless and might even have prolonged their agony as well as adding further risk to the boat’s safety.

  Was it guilt? If he had not been worrying about Alison he might have checked further before the dive. If it had not been her brother trapped with his men in the blazing torpedo space, might he have acted differently?

  And in the end he had ordered the space to be flooded, so it was all in vain. Perhaps his own severe burns and terrible pain had saved him from disgrace and awarded him instead both honour and admiration.

  He heard himself say thickly, ‘When I came out of hospital I was found unfit for submarines, sir.’ He added with sudden bitterness, ‘It happens!’

  Dalziel walked to his cupboard and took out a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

  ‘No water, I’m afraid.’ He sounded almost matter of fact. ‘But drink it down anyway.’ He watch Standish over the rim of his glass and then said calmly, ‘I’m sorry about that, Number One. But I thought it best to get it out and done with. Commander Mitford tried to help by reassuring you, eh?’ He held his glass to the scuttle and examined it critically. ‘I will not. For to reassure you means that I think you need it. You are my first lieutenant, and for me that is enough. It has to be.’

  Standish felt the raw whisky exploring his stomach and realized he had not eaten for twenty-four hours, or maybe longer.

  He said, ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Save the thanks!’ Dalziel was grinning as he had done aboard the supply ship. ‘You may come to loathe my guts! But together we will make this ship live again. And for me, that is all that matters.’

  He placed his glass carefully on the table and added, ‘Now, if you are ready, I want to discuss tomorrow’s programme.’