To Risks Unknown Read online

  Crespin thought of the obvious difficulties, the agents risking their lives to transmit or carry this vital information. And all Scarlett could do was behave like a spoilt child.

  He said, ‘We must give the signal to withdraw, sir. Nashorn’s obviously coming back to her base. Lemke will have realized what the sinking of the troopship could mean. He’s even cleverer than I thought.’

  Scarlett scowled. ‘For God’s sake! We’re not half finished here yet!’

  Crespin said stubbornly, ‘We have to pick up the partisans and get them to safety, sir. It all takes time, and the Nashorn could be within twenty miles of us now.’

  Scarlett licked his lips and then said excitedly, ‘God, that was a good shot!’ He came back to Crespin’s words with another effort. ‘We will press on with the attack.’

  Crespin saw Wemyss watching him, his mouth pulled down in a tight frown.

  ‘If we don’t withdraw, we could be caught inside the bay.’

  Wemyss said, ‘That’s right, sir. The German ship will use the channel we were going to take. It will be a head-on clash!’

  Scarlett turned on the chair and glared at them. ‘Just attend to handling the ship. I’ll decide what we will or will not do!’

  Crespin walked to the opposite side of the bridge and watched the distant schooners moving slowly towards the entrance of the bay. To Wemyss he said, ‘Slow ahead. We’re in no more danger from the base.’ He pulled the hood from the chart and bent over it. It was light enough to see it quite clearly, yet the whole attack had taken less than fifty minutes.

  He worked with the brass dividers, shutting his mind to the crash and rumble of explosions and Wemyss’s grave voice as he took over the con and started the ship on one more slow circle around the bay.

  Scarlett could be right, and yet … He measured off the distance very carefully. The Nashorn was old and heavy and probably did little more than twelve knots at best. An anxious captain could be here within four more hours. A chill ran down his spine. Lemke was not the sort to be anxious, from what Soskic had said. Suppose he had not followed the normal route, but had come south through the complex of offshore islands which he must know so well? The dividers glinted as he tried to put his idea into reality. When he stood up again his face was set.

  ‘Sir, I suggest you make that signal now!’ There was a lull in the noise ashore, and in the sudden silence his voice seemed unnaturally loud. He saw Scarlett’s returning anger but persisted calmly, ‘I think the Nashorn will be taking the inner channels. She could arrive within the hour.’

  Scarlett looked at the watching faces around him. ‘Think? Could? What value is there in these words?’ He shrugged and tried to smile. ‘This is a very successful operation! The whole thing has gone like clockwork. I don’t suppose the enemy even knows about it yet. We’d have seen some air activity by now if he did.’

  ‘I’m thinking of Soskic’s men, sir.’ Crespin did not smile back at him. He felt ice cold, helplessly calm, even though his whole being was crying out to take Scarlett by the throat and shake some sense into him. ‘The schooners can only manage a few knots. In any case it will take time to recover the raiding party.’

  Scarlett opened his mouth as if to speak and then turned his back to watch the drifting smoke above the shattered buildings. A white flag was being waved from one house, but it was hastily withdrawn as a savage burst of machine-gun-fire plucked it with invisible fingers.

  Crespin climbed up beside him. ‘We have done what we came to do …’

  He swung round as Griffin shouted, ‘Signal from Cap’n Coutts’ boat, sir!’ He trained his telescope to watch the feeble light as it stabbed through the haze.

  Then he said, ‘Funnel smoke to the north-west, sir!’

  Wemyss muttered, ‘Christ Almighty!’

  Scarlett edged round in the chair, his eyes opaque. ‘Very well. Signal a general recall. M.L.s to cover the schooners until Soskic’s men are lifted off.’

  Crespin licked the dryness from his lips. ‘Tell Captain Coutts to get alongside the jetty immediately and fire the signal for Soskic’s recall!’ He watched the flare burst above the smoke and then, thankfully, an answering one from the hillside by the road where the German lorry was still blazing furiously.

  Scarlett slipped off his seat and said briskly, ‘Not to worry! It’s all going well, eh?’ But he was no longer smiling.

  Wemyss said quietly, ‘It’ll be a close call, sir.’

  Crespin watched the schooners chugging past, their crews already in the bows with mooring lines and grapnels. He did not want Wemyss to see his eyes in case he should read his anxiety.

  He replied, ‘Well, here come the partisans.’

  They were running through the smoking ruins, some carrying captured stores and weapons, others firing as they ran, or pausing to shoot into some last possible hideout.

  He saw Coutts standing beside Ross aboard his schooner as the first of Soskic’s raiders swarmed over the bows, and he thought he saw Preston with his Bren staring across at the Thistle as she edged round in another slow turn.

  Crespin tried not to look at his watch or count the dragging time it was taking for the partisans to make their way to the jetty. Thank God the Germans were either dead or hiding. It would take just another few shots to get Soskic’s men on the rampage again. This was their moment. What they had waited and trained for.

  He looked round for Scarlett but he seemed to have vanished. Griffin saw his expression and said quickly, ‘Chartroom, sir.’

  Crespin nodded. ‘Signal Coutts to start pulling out now.’ He leaned over the screen and waited until Shannon looked up at him. ‘I want those two coal lighters sunk as we leave!’

  When he turned again he saw that the schooners were already carrying out his order and backing slowly from the shell-scarred jetty.

  He said, ‘Now signal the M.L.s to take off the rest of ’em!’

  Griffin grinned. ‘Cor, some of ’em think they was bein ’left behind.’

  The excited gestures changed to cheerful waves as the first M.L. glided inshore to recover the last of the partisans.

  Scarlett was back again, and as he brushed past to reach the gratings Crespin smelt whisky across his face and saw the new brightness in his eyes as he peered at the slow-moving schooners.

  Then Scarlett rubbed his hands. ‘Right, I see you’ve carried out my orders!’

  Crespin was about to reply when he saw Scarlett’s face freeze to a tight mask. Even as he turned he heard a sound like a great wind, and then the glass screen shivered in its mounting and the whole bridge lit up with a bright orange flash. Sickened, he saw the nearest schooner rocking wildly amidst a falling curtain of spray, her hull covered by drifting smoke, while the crowded figures on deck stared around as if mesmerized.

  Scarlett said, ‘God, that was close!’

  Crespin ignored him. He had expected it, in spite of all his reasoning if not because of it.

  ‘Half ahead, starboard fifteen!’ He looked at Scarlett. ‘She can’t see us yet, but she’ll be coming up the channel at any moment now.’

  Scarlett’s voice sounded like a record. ‘Not to worry. We’ll make it in time!’

  Crespin snapped, ‘Midships! Steady!’ To Wemyss he added, ‘Hoist battle ensigns!’ He saw the numbed understanding on his face and added shortly, ‘It might give our people over there a bit of heart. And Christ knows, they’re going to need it!’

  Scarlett caught his sleeve. ‘What the hell are you doing, man? Are you mad or something?’

  Crespin replied calmly, ‘The schooners and the M.L.s will need time to reach the channel we came in by, sir. We must hold the Nashorn in her channel until they’re clear.’ He studied Scarlett, aware for the first time that his face was utterly empty of understanding. He added slowly, ‘It’s the only way, sir.’

  ‘Only way?’ Scarlett seemed unable to drag his eyes from the big ensigns which Griffin and his signalmen were hoisting. They looked clean and remote above the batt
ered little ship.

  Then he said vaguely, ‘It was a very successful raid. We can’t be expected to throw everything away now.’ His eyes swivelled down and fastened on Crespin’s face. ‘Signal the schooners to scatter. Then take the Thistle at full speed to the original channel. There’s nothing we can do for these boats now.’ He gave a great sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Crespin, God knows I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else for it.’

  Joicey’s voice echoed up the tube. ‘Steady on two-five-five, sir.’

  Crespin did not take his eyes from Scarlett’s. ‘Steady as you go!’

  ‘I don’t think you understood me, Crespin?’ Scarlett stepped back a pace. ‘I am giving you an order!’

  With a piercing shriek another shell passed overhead and exploded in the centre of the Thistle’s wake. It was well clear, but even so the hull shook violently.

  Crespin replied, ‘Then I am disobeying it, sir.’

  Scarlett swayed on his feet as if he had been struck. ‘I’m giving you one last chance, d’you hear me? Then I’m going to put you under arrest!’

  A messenger called, ‘Sir! Sub-Lieutenant Porteous is requesting instructions!’

  Crespin did not turn. ‘Tell him to come up here.’ To Scarlett he continued in the same level voice, ‘We both know why Admiral Oldenshaw wanted you back in England, sir. If we leave here now and let these people die, you’ll have that shame for the rest of your life. This raid may be just one more operation to you, I don’t know, but to these people it is an essential victory, can’t you see that?’

  Scarlett’s eyes seemed to fill his face. ‘The raid’s over!’

  ‘Well, if you can leave all these people to be slaughtered, I can’t!’

  Porteous climbed on to the bridge, ‘Sir?’

  Crespin said, ‘How many charges do you have left?’

  Porteous looked at Scarlett and replied uneasily, ‘Just four.’

  ‘Right. Get the damage control party and lower both boats to deck level. Put two depth-charges in each boat, with a setting of fifty feet.’

  Porteous stared at him. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Rip out all the buoyancy tanks from the boats, too, while you’re at it.’ He saw Porteous’s confusion and added sharply, ‘Jump to it!’

  To Scarlett he said, ‘The admiral offered me this command out here not because I was the best man for the job, but because you have reached a point where you can no longer make a detached judgement …’

  He got no further. Scarlett seemed to forget the men standing around the bridge. ‘Well, the admiral’s dead! When I get back to England I’ll see that you’re broken!’

  A great crash shook the bridge and a lookout shouted, ‘One of the schooners, sir!’

  It was a direct hit. The schooner had been about to pass the stone breakwater when the five-point-nine shell, fired by gunners who could not even see a target, smashed it into oblivion. There was only the bow section left and that was already sinking rapidly in a great whirlpool of fragments and splintered wreckage. It must have been crammed with men, for as the Thistle pushed the remains aside Crespin saw that the water was covered with a great crimson stain, spreading and writhing above the sunken remains as if the schooner itself was bleeding.

  Scarlett seized his arm, but he was no longer shouting. His voice seemed suddenly small and pleading. ‘I know you mean well, Crespin. But you don’t understand. The act of attack is important. We can’t always gauge the cost, or measure the losses!’

  Wemyss turned away, unable to watch.

  Scarlett continued, ‘You can’t fight the Nashorn, you know that!’

  ‘I said from the beginning that the base was the secondary objective, sir. While the Nashorn stays afloat our whole operation is wasted. Even the torpedo boats won’t be able to reach Vis while she patrols these channels.’ He shook Scarlett’s hand away. ‘Too many have died already because of her!’

  Scarlett staggered as the four-inch opened fire, the muzzle trained hard round towards the receding jetty. The nearest coal lighter lifted to the shellburst and then settled down to sink, dragging the other lighter with her.

  Then he yelled wildly, ‘You fool! You’re trying to ruin me!’ He was unable to check himself now. ‘You’re like all the rest. You think you understand war, but when it comes to getting your hands dirty you can’t stomach it, can you?’

  Crespin said nothing. Scarlett was destroying himself. It was terrible to watch.

  ‘Like that idiot, Trotter! He was like that. Wanted to be a bloody hero, until that night …’ His legs buckled under him and he collapsed into the chair. ‘I tried to reason with him. Make him understand.’

  Crespin looked over the screen and saw the M.L.s following the three schooners out of the bay. Smoke was drifting above the water, shutting out the burning buildings and reducing the visibility to less than a cable. His mind recorded all these facts, just as it noted that the German ship had ceased fire. The Nashorn must be in the main channel now. One door was closed, the remaining channel—barely three miles wide—was a long way away.

  Scarlett was going over it all again, the words flooding out, confused and disjointed. Crespin thought of the girl and what she had meant to him. Perhaps because of her influence alone he was still able to accept what he now understood. All those months of suffering and anguish, the nightmares, the regular pattern of terrible pictures which mocked him as he slept. That face, that one face which came back over and over again. It was difficult to understand why he had not realized it had been Trotter’s face. The dream and the reality had become stark and clear in Scarlett’s words.

  He heard himself ask, ‘Why did you kill Trotter, sir? Just tell me that!’

  Scarlett stared at him, his eyes suddenly eager. ‘You see? You do understand!’ He reached out and seized Griffin’s arm as if to emphasize his words. ‘It was just an accident. We captured the launch behind enemy lines. It was our first really successful raid. Then, coming back, we came on these people in the water.’

  Crespin said quietly, ‘You didn’t have to fire on us. You could have left us.’

  Scarlett nodded sharply. ‘That’s what Trotter said. When he joined your ship and realized who you were, he wanted to come right out and tell you.’ He laughed, without making a sound. ‘Imagine that! After all my hard work, and all that I’ve done, he’d have spoiled everything because of one bloody mistake!’ He lifted his chin and yelled, ‘I did not know the men in the water were our own people!’

  Crespin said, ‘What difference does that make?’ He turned away as Wemyss said, ‘Senior M.L. is signalling, sir!’

  Scarlett followed, dragging Griffin with him. ‘I had to shoot him! The fool, he was making a written confession about it!’

  Crespin raised his glasses. The channel beyond the nearest islands looked clear and blue. It would be a fine day after all.

  He said, ‘Tell the M.L. to escort the others to Korcula as fast as he can manage.’

  To Scarlett he added flatly, ‘I am relieving you, sir. You will go below to my quarters, now!’ He wondered why he did not care more. Scarlett was the man who had mercilessly butchered his own men without reason. Had then shot Trotter and made it appear like the confession he had been looking for. It was strange how the obvious had eluded him.

  Now Scarlett was speaking to Griffin, grasping his arm, his head lowered in some confidential explanation, while the leading signalman stood quite still, his face like stone.

  Crespin realized that Scarlett was more victim than culprit. He had seen and done too much in a short time, and the veneer had worn away. Now he was a whimpering, useless thing, as much a casualty as all the others he had helped to make.

  The M.L. was gliding nearer, her skipper staring up at the Thistle’s bridge and shouting, ‘We’ll stop and give you a hand!’

  Crespin said to Wemyss, ‘Tell him to obey my orders.’

  He watched Griffin guiding Scarlett to the bridge ladder, the expressions of shock and contempt recorded on the watching fac
es.

  Wemyss spoke to a signalman but kept his eyes on Crespin’s face. Then he asked, ‘Did you know all this, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps I didn’t want to know.’ Crespin levelled his glasses on the breakwater. A German steel helmet lay quite alone near the beacon at the end. Its owner probably dead with all the rest.

  Wemyss said half to himself, ‘I’d have sent him across to one of the M.L.s!’ Then he said harshly, ‘Still, I suppose he might as well stay with us and see what he’s got us into.’

  Porteous reappeared on the bridge. ‘I’ve moved the depth-charges to the boats, sir.’ He glanced at Wemyss who gave a brief shrug. Then he said awkwardly, ‘I’ve heard what Captain Scarlett did, sir. I think …’ He faltered under Crespin’s gaze then said quickly, ‘I think you should send him with the other boats, under arrest!’

  Crespin looked over the screen. The senior M.L. was already curving away, her wash rising as she hurried back towards the other slow-moving craft.

  He replied, ‘He’ll have enough to answer for later on, Sub. Just forget the legal side of it for five minutes and try to imagine how you would feel in his position. It’s bad enough to be ordered off the bridge, for God’s sake let us spare him the indignity of being hauled across to another ship like some bloody piece of cargo!’

  Wemyss muttered, ‘He wanted to do it to you, sir.’

  Crespin grimaced. ‘Forget it. Let me know the exact distance to the secondary channel.’

  To Porteous he added quietly, ‘But thanks all the same. I know you meant well.’ He smiled sadly. ‘If it makes you feel easier, I suggest you put the steward on guard outside Scarlett’s door.’

  Wemyss said, ‘Ten miles, sir.’

  Ten miles. Two hours steaming for the schooners and their escorts. Two hours to hold the Nashorn from pounding them to scrap before his eyes.

  He looked at the sky, the growing tinge of blue around each cloud. It was grotesque. All the more so because the Thistle would probably sink within a mile of where they had destroyed the troopship.