Alan Evans - Ship of Force

“He was taking a risk.”

“Yes, sir. He said we had to. Couldn’t leave you and scoot off home.”

Smith thought they owed their freedom if not their lives to Dunbar. Nobody would have blamed him if he had refused to hazard his ship on the thin chance of finding Smith’s party. Sanders might prove a good officer in time but a decision like that…

He asked, “Where is the captain?”

Sanders looked at Gow where he hung over the wheel, long arms hanging to grip the spokes. Gow’s face was expressionless. Sanders said, “When they hit us they killed the two Sparks and wounded the captain but he stayed on the bridge. Shortly before we sighted you he collapsed and we took him below. He died about ten minutes ago. Brodie says it was shock and loss of blood.”

Smith looked at them, at the misery in Sanders’s face and the mask clamped on Gow’s. He said to them, “I’m very sorry. He — was a fine officer.”

He could find nothing more to say. He had got away with it, but not Dunbar. The man had said he owed Smith a lot. He had paid in full; far too much. And the two wireless operators. He thought of Dunbar’s private misery, never shown, never spoken of, but he knew it had been there. He did not believe this rubbish about dying of a broken heart. Men died for reasons like — loss of blood. Not a broken heart. Still…

He turned away from them to face forward. Eleanor Hurst was in the captain’s cabin and Dunbar and the dead wireless operators in the wardroom. There was nowhere Smith could go. The bridge was crowded as always with its staff and the crew of the twelve-pounder. There was barely room for him to take a pace either way. He stood with legs braced against the motion of the ship and wrapped his hands around the mug of tea that came up from the galley and sipped at it and hunched wearily under the rain, the never-ending rain.

Dunbar. The appalling, bloody waste of a good man.

Sparrow slipped into the harbour of Dunkerque in the forenoon. As she passed through the Roads, Smith saw Marshall Marmont was still at anchor. Her pinnace was in the water with steam up and an officer descending the ladder. Sparrow slid on past the lighthouse and the bastion where a French poilu , disconsolate in a dripping cape, stood guard with rifle and bayonet by the field gun that pointed at the sky. She tied up at her berth in the Port d’Echouage and on the quay a solitary figure awaited them, an Army officer in a trench-coat, cane tapping against his booted leg. The officer looked up at the bridge and saw Smith, lifted the cane in a wave. He was tall, handsome, but with a toughness about his good looks and Smith remembered him from the party at the Savoy a world away. And from three days later. He was the Lieutenant-Colonel on somebody’s staff who had been a Doctor of Philosophy and now was something on movements in Dunkerque — Hacker. He called up at Smith, “Permission to come aboard, sir?”

Smith nodded slowly, putting two and two together. He turned his head and threw a reminder at Sanders: “Coal ship!” He started down from the bridge.

Sanders’s “Aye, aye, sir!” followed him.

As he walked towards Hacker where he waited in the waist, Smith saw Brodie at the hatch that led down to the wardroom and the captain’s cabin, holding down a hand. Another hand took his and he helped Eleanor Hurst up to the deck as Smith reached Hacker. The Colonel stared at the girl and let out a sigh of relief “Thank God for that!” He took off his cap and thrust his fingers through thick, black hair. He was freshly shaved but Smith suspected he had been up all night. He looked tired.

Smith was seeing some things very clearly now. He said, “You are a Lieutenant-Colonel in Intelligence and you sent that girl into Belgium.”

Hacker did not hesitate, admitted it immediately, “Yes.” He did not offer explanations, excuses or apologies.

Smith said, “I think we’d better talk.”

Eleanor Hurst was close now. Garrick’s voice spoke up behind Smith, “Welcome home, sir. We were starting to worry.”

Hacker muttered, “Not as much as I was.”

Smith turned to meet the grinning and obviously relieved Garrick and asked, “What news of the engines?”

“She’s to be towed into the dockyard tonight or early tomorrow, sir.”

Smith thought that was his ‘ship of force’: two big guns and no engines. And that his deck was getting crowded and the hands at work were having to climb around them. He said, “I think we’d better compare notes.” He looked from Hacker to the girl. “Shall we go below? The men are making ready to coal ship and we’re in the way.”

They went down to the cabin and Smith crowded them in, Hacker and the girl sitting on the bunk, Garrick standing by the bulkhead. Brodie appeared before they were settled, carrying a tray with glasses, a bottle and a jug of water. “Thought you might fancy a drop o’ something, sir.”

“Did you?” Smith took the tray from him. “It’s a bit early but the circumstances are unusual. Thank you.”

Brodie left and Smith charged the glasses.

Hacker said, “ Sparrow ’s been knocked about a bit.” When Smith nodded, Hacker went on, “Curtis told me when he got back here in the middle of the night that you’d gone to do the job. Then when you didn’t show up at first light —” He shook his head, his cap now hooked on one knee, and smiled at Eleanor. “I was very worried, my dear. Oh, I know it was a job that had to be done and you had volunteered. But I’d let you go and — well, I’m damned glad to see you safe.” He paused, then asked, “Josef?”

Smith answered, “We lost him.” He explained briefly.

Hacker said nothing for a moment then he lifted his glass to Smith where he stood at the door. “Congratulations to you, anyway. And — ‘absent friends’.”

Smith lifted his. “Absent friends.” This was Dunbar’s cabin. There would be a stretcher party coming soon to take Dunbar and the wireless operators from the wardroom. He gulped at the whisky and felt it burn down into him. “There’s no cause for congratulations. Josef and Miss Hurst found nothing. Just as the reconnaissance flights you asked for found nothing. Except that whatever is in those woods, the enemy are determined to keep it secret.”

Hacker said, “You seem to know a great deal.”

“I know about Schwertträger . I know you’re trying everything you can to find out what’s behind it.” And Smith told him about the U-boat commander, and how it had been reported to Naval Intelligence and to Trist. He finished, “Now I find you’re on the same trail. Does Trist know? Did you know what I’d told Trist?”

Hacker shook his head uncomfortably. “There’s very little liaison of that kind. We’re improving, but so far — no, there’s no machinery for exchanging information.’ He added wryly, “I’m having difficulty in persuading my people that this thing could be important. They authorised reconnaissance flights, and this landing of Josef and Miss Hurst but only because of the reports from Belgium. And because I persuaded them there was something going on that we should know about.”

Smith was silent for a moment, aware that Garrick was listening to all this with amazement. Smith looked at him, open-faced and honest and thought wearily, Thank God for Garrick in a mad world. He said quietly, “I believe that, because of the way they are guarded, the woods south of De Haan hold a secret that is a threat to us. Because of the connection with a U-boat commander and the mention of a spring tide that threat must be coming directly from the sea.” He paused.

Hacker said, “That sounds sense.”