Alan Evans - Ship of Force

Smith said, “She’s stopped. Probably in trouble. Turn and close her.”

Sparrow continued in her turn, came around as Dunbar ordered, “Slow ahead both.” The engine-room telegraphs clanged and Sparrow slowed. They searched the darkness for the CMB, lost now, but — “Port beam, sir.” The look-out pointed and there she was, still rocking. Sparrow crept down to her.

“Stop both,” ordered Dunbar. Sparrow lay about ten feet away but drifting slowly down on the CMB. Smith saw that instead of torpedoes she carried a dinghy lashed on over the chutes. A party were already in Sparrow ’s waist hanging fenders over the side to protect the CMB’s fragile hull. As the gap closed, the men forward and aft aboard her threw lines that were caught and she was drawn in alongside. It was CMB 19.

Smith peered at her, lifted the megaphone and called, “Mr. Curtis?”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Trouble?”

“Yes, sir. Can I come aboard?”

“Yes.”

Smith slid down the ladder to the iron deck and walked aft to meet him. Curtis stank of petrol and oil and his face was smudged as if he’d drawn a dirty hand across it. He was naked except for his cotton drawers and his hair was plastered wetly to his skull. He was breathing heavily. “Sir! Am I glad to see you. We’ve fouled both our screws. Ran across a whole mess of wreckage, timber, with a trailing wire. The wire’s wrapped around and around them. Me’n the engineer, we’ve been over the side working on it but it’s nowhere near free.”

Smith said, “All right. We’ll tow you.”

“Thank you, sir, but it’s not that simple.” He hesitated, glanced around at the surrounding seamen and said, “Can I talk with you privately, sir?”

Smith blinked. “If it’s essential. But I don’t want this ship lying stopped any longer than she’s got to be. For obvious reasons.”

“Yes, sir. Only take a minute and it is essential.”

“Come on.” Smith strode quickly aft until they were clear of the party in the waist. “This will have to do.”

“Dandy, sir. Fact is, we’re on detached duty and I understand it’s Intelligence. That’s all. Our orders are to pick up a party from the beach north of Ostende. There’s a definite time and it’s getting close. We can’t make it, but I think somebody has to.” He stared at Smith. “They’ll be waiting.”

“What time?”

“Twenty minutes after midnight.”

Smith peered at his watch. It was 11.32. He snapped, “Show me on the chart,” and hurried to the chart-table abaft the first funnel.

Midshipman Lorimer was stooped under the hood of the charttable, recording their course. Smith dislodged him without ceremony and with Curtis at his side peered at the chart. Curtis picked up a pencil. Water dripped from his hair on to the chart and he swore softly and wiped at it with his hand. He used the ruler, measuring carefully and drew a neat cross on the chart.

“That’s the spot, sir. I landed them there last night.”

Smith saw it lay just south of the area of woodland at De Haan about forty miles from Dunkerque and fifteen from Sparrow now.

Curtis said, “It’s a bit tricky but it worked out right last night. The idea was we should cruise about a mile off-shore. Two lights would be shown. I was told they were to be set up by a couple of people, farmers maybe, banging lanterns in their barns so they’d be seen at sea and nowhere else. We were to get the lights in line and run in on that bearing real slow and quiet. When we were close inshore we were to wait for a signal. They tell me the Fritzes patrol the shore and we had to wait till somebody flashed an A and that meant the patrol had passed. We got the signal and landed them in the dinghy, then hauled out. The same schedule goes for tonight. The party we had to collect will flash an A when the coast is clear and then we were to take them off in the dinghy — the CMB’s too noisy to run right in. But the timing is very important. The two lights to give the bearing will only be shown for fifteen minutes. They daren’t risk any longer. So — whoever goes to make the pick-up has to be cruising on station at twenty after twelve. From then he’ll just have fifteen minutes to pick up the lights and run in. And it’s got to be done quietly. There are shore batteries at Ostende and light guns at De Haan and all down the coast and —”

Smith snapped irritably, “I know that, damn it!”

“Sure.” Curtis pushed his hair back from his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”

“How often have you done this?”

“This is the first time. I guess maybe it’s the first time it has been done. I asked why and got told it was none of my damn business, but they did say the weather had been bad for flying people in and two of them meant two aeroplanes or two trips. And that there was someone able to get in and organise the reception committee so I didn’t have to worry.” He laughed shortly at that. “But that’s all I know.”

Someone able to get in? Maybe a neutral, a Dutchman whose business took him frequently into Belgium, who could arrange for the lights to be lit and the boat to be met, if it came, when the weather was right? It was a possible explanation but only that. And it was not Curtis’s business, nor Smith’s.

He stared at the chart, already seeing the problems, planning. “Anything else? A challenge? Passwords? And how many in the party?”

“Two, sir. And the challenge is ‘Sword-bearer’ and the answer ‘Nineteen’. And one of the people is —”

“What?” Smith spun round from the chart. “ Sword - bearer !”

Curtis glanced at him, startled. “That mean something to you, sir? Are you involved in this already?”

Smith took a breath. “I didn’t think so.” Sword-bearer. Schwertträger . It couldn’t be coincidence. He pushed out from under the hood and said, “We’ll try to do it.”

Curtis looked relieved. He said, “I’m obliged, sir. I feel real bad about it, those people hanging on.”

“Not your fault. Just bad luck.” Smith eyed him. “I don’t want to tow you now because I’ll be in a hurry.”

“Don’t worry about us, sir.” Curtis started to edge aft. “We’ll clear those screws. You want us to follow on then?”

“No.” The CMB would arrive too late to do any good and might get in the way if Sparrow had to fight or run and both were likely. “You can do no more. As soon as you get under way, head for home. Now get along.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Smith saw him start aft and himself turned back to the charttable and laid off the course himself, checked it, showed it to Lorimer then ran forward. As he climbed on to the bridge he saw the CMB drifting away, Curtis already crouched in her stern by the dinghy there, waiting to go down into the sea again as soon as Sparrow pulled away and her wash had cleared them. Smith remembered Curtis had been about to tell him something. “One of the people is…” But whatever it was, it was not important enough to delay because every second counted. He ordered, “Course is six-five degrees! Revolutions for twenty knots!”

Dunbar ordered, “Starboard ten! Steer six-five.”

Gow acknowledged, “Steer six-five degrees, sir!”

The engine-room telegraphs clanged and Dunbar spoke into the voice pipe. “Revolutions for twenty knots.” Sparrow ’s screws turned, slowly, then gradually the beat of the engines quickened. The CMB was left tossing astern of them.

Gow reported, “Course six-five degrees, sir.”

Smith turned on Sanders and Dunbar. “We’re going to take some people off the beach.” Dunbar only grunted but Sanders’s mouth opened in surprise. Smith told them Curtis’s orders then went on: “I want the whaler ready to slip and I want two or three extra hands along.” If they were discovered there might well be casualties and extra hands would be needed then. “Boat’s compass and torches. Small arms for everybody. That means revolvers with an empty chamber under the hammer and safetycatches on.” He paused to take a breath and saw Sanders staring at him, swallowing with excitement. Smith went on, “I’ll go in the whaler with Lorimer. Tell Buckley to come along as well. We’ll need a buoy to rendezvous on. I want a boat anchor slung below a grating. On the top of the grating lash an empty oil drum with a crutch hanging inside on a length of twine. Understood?”