Alan Evans - Ship of Force

Smith emptied his glass and looked from Hacker to the girl.

“I’m going to the Commodore to ask him to let me make a reconnaissance of that stretch of coast. Will you come with me?”

The two of them sitting on the bunk exchanged glances. Hacker said, “Well, I know Trist — but I think you’re right. I’ll come.”

Eleanor Hurst stood up wearily. “Very well.”

Garrick offered, “I’ll come along if you like, sir.” He said it unhappily, scenting trouble.

Smith turned him down. “But if you’d care to wait aboard I’ll go with you in the picket-boat later.”

He had no cap so he took Dunbar’s. They walked up through the port, along the quays. As they crossed the fish-market where there was a new crater filled with rubble, the flag climbed up the staff on the Belfroi tower and the fog-horns sounded. The crews of the French destroyers lying alongside ran to their guns and the barrels lifted to point at the sky.

Eleanor Hurst asked, “What’s going on?”

Smith answered shortly, “Air-raid,” and kept up the fast pace he had set from the beginning.

At the house in the Parc de la Marine they found a line of Staff cars, the drivers in a lounging group that stiffened into cracking attention as a corporal among them bawled, “Heyes front!” And snapped up a salute. Smith returned it. The outer office was empty, the Lieutenant missing from his desk by the double-doors leading to Trist’s room and those doors were halfopen. Smith and his little party could hear a murmur of voices, deep-toned laughter and he pushed the doors wide and walked in. He saw the Lieutenant who should have been guarding the doors hurrying down the room towards them, a startled look on his face. Beyond him there was a crowd of officers, Army and Royal Navy intermingled blue and khaki, gold braid and red tabs, glittering boots and buttons and silky-shining Sam Browne belts. They stood around the big map in little groups. Two stewards in dazzling white jackets were moving among them with trays of drinks and a long table was laid for lunch by the windows. Smith saw one tall figure in the uniform of a Brigadier-General in conversation with another tall, immaculate figure who smiled widely. Smith thought of Dunbar who had bled to death while he refused to leave his bridge, refused to abandon Smith and risked his little ship under the enemy guns. But Dunbar was at peace. Smith wanted something of Trist, had to have it. Then Trist saw Smith and his smile vanished.

The Lieutenant intercepted Smith. “Sir, if you would care to wait —”

“The door was open. I need to see the Commodore.” Smith passed him and met Trist who was walking with rapid, long strides down the room.

Trist said softly, savagely, “What the devil do you want?”

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, sir, but there was no one around outside and the door was open. I have to see you.”

Trist looked him up and down, at the salt-stained uniform, crumpled as it had dried on him, the hollow eyes in the unshaven face.

Smith guessed how he must look and was sorry, but: “It is urgent, sir —”

“This is a conference,” Trist started, but Smith’s eyes flicked past him to the group at the end of the room, the stewards and the drinks. Trist followed the direction of that gaze and saw curious glances turned towards himself and Smith. Gunfire sounded beyond the tall windows of the long room, some of it distant and some of it close. A shudder ran through the floor and the windows trembled making a soft rattling in the frames and then there came the far-off muffled crump ! of the bomb. Hacker and Eleanor stood a yard inside the room, the Lieutenant hovering uncertainly. They watched the slight, bedraggled but straight figure of Smith standing under Trist’s glare, refusing to be moved.

The Commodore smiled easily at the General across the room but muttered an obscenity under his breath. He said, “Very well. Outside.”

And when they stood in the hallway, “What is it?”

“We’ve talked before about —” Smith hesitated. What to call it? “ Schwertträger , whatever it may be.”

Trist raised his eyes to heaven. “Not again !”

Smith said, “This gentleman is Lieutenant-Colonel Hacker of Army Intelligence. This lady is Miss Eleanor Hurst. If you would hear them, sir.”

Hacker looked real, the soldier he was, but Eleanor Hurst still wore the blouse and skirt in which she had been captured and in which she had swum. She had dried them aboard Sparrow but they had not seen an iron. She looked a scarecrow figure and knew it, was aware of Trist’s eyes running over her, amused and patronising.

Hacker told his tale, and Eleanor Hurst went stiff-faced and curtly through hers as Trist watched her with a cynical half-smile.

When they had finished he looked at Smith. “And I suppose you believe this lends weight to your arguments? That two wrongs make a right?” He glanced at the doors behind him and looked at his watch.

Smith said, “Before we only knew the Germans planned something called Schwertträger . We still don’t know what it is or when it will be but we know where and that it is connected with the woods by De Haan.”

“That may be,” Trist admitted grudgingly. “But if Colonel Hacker had sent a more appropriate agent than an untried girl —”

“ I was there only as — as part of a disguise!” Eleanor Hurst snapped it at him. “There was an expert with me, he tried all he knew and now he’s dead. He did not die with his bottom stuck in a chair and a drink in his hand!”

Trist glared past her at Hacker. “Are you unable to discipline your assistants?”

The door opened behind Trist as the girl answered him. “He can’t and neither can you! I’m a civilian! Thank God for that and that I don’t have to take orders from a pompous windbag!”

The General and his aides stood in the door, and with them a Royal Navy Captain. Trist spun on his heel, saw them and snapped round again.

Hacker said, “Sir, I’m sorry. Miss Hurst has been under considerable strain and doesn’t know what she’s —”

“I know very well what I’m saying!” She was pale but she spoke very clearly.

Smith said savagely under his breath, “For God’s sake, shut up !”

Her head jerked as if struck and she turned away.

Smith spoke to Trist, tried to retrieve the situation. “I think the Germans have something in those woods, sir. The aircraft patrolling over De Haan, the way they are very secretive about the area, how it is isolated, guarded and now this report that actually links Schwertträger with those woods — they all fit together now. I suggest that we try to reconnoitre that stretch of coast by making a landing, and the fact that Miss Hurst and myself have both landed there shows it can be done. I think we’ve got to make a reconnaissance backed by force and prepared to —”

“No!”

Smith thought he could not have made himself clear. He must try again. “If I could explain, sir —”

“ No !” Trist almost shouted it. “You’ve already exceeded your authority in engaging in operations outside the orders I gave you. You’re demanding a reconnaissance while one ship of your force is immobilised and now the other is damaged because of your actions!”

Dunbar. All the time came the sound and shudder of the bombs falling in the port and the constant racketing gunfire. Dunbar.

Smith heard himself saying, “With respect, my actions were dictated by circumstances and in the same circumstances I would act the same. The ship was knocked about and three good men killed, one of them a fine officer, because the orders from this headquarters sent her out alone into waters where she had no right to be and on a task she was unfit to undertake!” He shouted it at Trist.