Alan Evans - Ship of Force

Smith had deserved it, he knew that. But she had not deserved it. He said, “Eleanor, please —”

“Sir?”

He looked around at the interruption. It was Buckley, who said, “The captain sent me up to the Commodore’s to find you but I spotted you in here, sir. I was to tell you we’ve shifted the picketboat; she’s lying just at the end of the quay here.”

Smith stared at him, trying to remember what he had been about to say to Eleanor. Buckley shifted under that taut, empty stare. “He thought you’d be in a hurry to get off, sir.”

Hacker was to take him to Dover aboard Jack Curtis’s CMB. Hacker had to see his friends and Smith had to talk to someone. The mystery of what was hidden in the woods by De Haan was still unsolved. Schwertträger . If he was right then the time was running out. Two days. Two days at the most…

He said, “Very good. I’ll come now.” He stood and picked up his cap as Buckley saluted and left.

Smith stooped over Eleanor. “I was wrong and it’s not fair you should be hurt. I’m sorry.”

She did not answer him or look at him, stared past him at the door. So he went to it and out, put on his cap and walked towards the end of the quay, the pinnace and London.

He and Hacker scrambled into a leave train as it pulled out of Dover and stood throughout the journey in the corridor. The train was packed with the men and their equipment, most of them still with boots and legs coated with Flanders mud. Hacker had telegraphed ahead and there was a car waiting for them at Victoria. A hospital train had preceded them and the station was crowded with ambulances, wounded on stretchers, wounded limping on crutches or with arms in slings, some with eyes bandaged and holding on to comrades. And there were the faces behind the barriers that waited and watched, anxious or hopeful. The one or two that lit up when they saw the man they waited for even though he might be a shattered wreck; he was alive and home and now that was enough. Smoke and steam hung in the station and their smells mingled with the smell of damp khaki serge, sweat, dirt, antiseptic and the exhaust fumes of the ambulances creeping through the crowd.

It happened every day. Often it happened all day and all night.

On the way from Dunkerque they had talked and learned a great deal about each other. Smith found that Hacker had been an artillery subaltern until Intelligence claimed him. “They seemed to think I’d be useful. Bit of luck, really. Most of the chaps I knew as a subaltern are dead. I had trouble getting things done at the start because I didn’t know the strings to pull then. But once I learned that I got on all right. I mean, half-colonel isn’t bad for a chap who’s really a civilian. And it’s an interesting job most of the time.” He paused, then added, “Not too bloody funny sometimes, though.” He appeared languid and easy-going. Smith found him to be hard-working and serious.

Now in the car Hacker said, “About Eleanor.” He paused, for once embarrassed. “There was nothing between us except that I recruited her for the Belgian job. She had a bad time and I’m sorry, though I had no choice. We needed her. But that was all there was to it. She’s a fine girl.”

Smith said, “I know.” But he had already wrecked his chances with Eleanor Hurst.

He got out of the car at the Admiralty and stared up at the great building with the wireless aerials strung across its roof. Hacker handed him his bag and said, “When I have any news I’ll come round to your hotel, but this will take time.”

Smith answered, “I don’t think we have much time.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Smith shook his head. “We’ve got to make them believe!”

Hacker stared at his intensity as Smith went on, “We know the evidence is just words: soldiers in De Haan talking of Schwertträger . A U-boat Commander mumbling it when he was delirious, but he wasn’t delirious when he told me: ‘the blow will fall soon.’ I saw him. And he talked about a spring tide. You get two of those a month when the tide is exceptionally high and the next one on the Belgian coast is early on the morning of the 12th. That’s the day after tomorrow. That’s soon ! Whatever Schwertträger may mean it is a threat, it is connected with the woods south of De Haan and it could easily be timed to start on the morning of the 12th. We’ve got to get them to see that !”

Hacker was silent a moment, then said, “I believe you. And I know some strings to pull now. We’ll make them believe.”

The car pulled away. Smith watched it go and was glad he had Hacker on his side. He’d got to know the man and liked him; he could prove a friend. But now Smith had to test another and he turned towards the Admiralty.

Rear-Admiral Braddock growled, “What are you doing here?”

Smith came straight to the point. “I need help, sir.”

“Sit down.” Braddock looked thoughtfully across the desk at him. “The opinions you expressed on anti-submarine flotillas and convoys — I quoted them.”

“Yes, sir?”

“They made an impression. Let’s say that yours was one more vote that was counted. The convoy system is to be extended.”

Smith said from the heart, “Thank God for that.”

Braddock nodded. “I’m convinced it will be the saving of us. The reduction in shipping losses where convoys are used certainly indicates that. So you were right.” He thought Smith could be a bad-tempered, moody, stiff-necked, hard-nosed, infuriating officer. But he was right when it mattered. He went on, “I hear you’ve been busy. How are you getting along with Trist?”

Smith said baldly, “I’m not.”

The Admiral scowled, waited, and Smith told him the whole story, from his first hearing of Schwertträger to Trist’s refusal to allow him to attempt a reconnaissance of the woods south of De Haan. And he said what he wanted to do.

Braddock still scowled. “I wouldn’t say that you go looking for trouble as a rule, just that you seem to attract it. I promised you help, but coming to me for this, bypassing the chain of command! Trist will rightly say you’re going behind his back.”

“I know.”

“It won’t endear you to him, or to a lot of other people. I don’t like it myself.”

“I don’t like it, sir, but I believe time is against us and there was no other way. I had to use the back door. A LieutenantColonel in Army Intelligence is trying the same method.” He told Braddock about Hacker.

Braddock said, “Um. So the pair of you are trying to get orders for you, over Trist’s head, to attempt this reconnaissance. Well, I can’t give ’em.”

“No, sir. But you’re the only man I know who might be able to — or prepared to…” He stopped, uncertain how to put it.

The Admiral finished for him: “…persuade the right people.” He was silent, thinking that while he knew something of this young man, he knew little about what he really wanted. Thinking also that he himself was nearing the end of a long and distinguished career — but for the war he would have been retired by now — and he did not want to tarnish it with some backstairs-engineered blunder. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Was that what was making him hesitate, the risk to his reputation? If he was worried about taking that sort of risk then he had stayed too long and he should get out. And what about Smith, sitting there expressionless as a Chinaman but ready to risk not only his career but his life? He thought of this young officer’s seemingly wild escapades, the enormous risks he had taken, the women, the scandalous talk he had caused. Now he sat quiet. Not tall nor handsome. A little shabby and the fair hair needed cutting. No jutting jaw nor blazing eyes. The eyes looked tired now but were steady on Braddock.