Action This Day (A Commander Steadfast Thriller) Read online

  ‘Let us go?’

  ‘I reckon that’s what they hope.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Don’t worry, commander, we’re not giving up. My men can’t be stopped by a few booby traps.’

  ‘So we’re going in?’

  ‘Dead right. And this time we’re going to leave with the prisoners.’

  ‘We’d damn well better get them. I can’t keep those boats hanging around here for much longer.’

  ‘You won’t have to, commander. Just give me a few minutes while I set up our little surprise.’

  Gozhita eased the rucksack off his back and walked over to the gaping hole where the main door of the fort had been before they blew it the previous night. He entered, walked over to the pile of shells, knelt down and set to work.

  Gozhita soon reappeared and joined Steadfast and the partisans in the courtyard.

  ‘All done?’

  ‘All done. Now let’s deal with those Italians. Let’s hope we’re right,’ said Gozhita. ‘What’s it you say in England? “Third time lucky?”’

  ‘That’s it. Do your job then. But be careful, we want those men out alive, not blown to minced meat,’ warned Steadfast.

  ‘OK, OK. I know what I’m doing. I’m the partisan, remember? You’re just a sailor.’

  Steadfast smarted a little at this remark, all the worse given the truth behind it. He watched as Gozhita knelt down to lay the plastic charge to the tunnel door.

  ‘Commander, this is not an entertainment. Get back with the other men against the wall and be ready to rush when the door goes!’

  This second, and also justified, reprimand, was hard for Steadfast to take. No one had talked to him like this since he had been a midshipman. But he knew Gozhita was right and, out of character, he meekly obeyed.

  The scene was now set. An empty courtyard with a deserted fort, surrounded by booby-trapped military hardware. A large two part steel door on massive hinges, locked by some mechanism inside – a bar across the door, Gozhita thought. In front of the door a man kneeling in the darkness and working with swift but careful precision. To each side of the door, pressed with their backs to the rock face, his partisans, Sten guns at the ready. And silence.

  Suddenly Gozhita flung some tools into the darkness behind him, sprang to his feet and dashed to the safety of the rock face. He put his fingers in his ears and silently counted ten, nine … down to one.

  The rock faces and the walls of the fort seemed to jump as the shredding sound of the plastic explosive reverberated round and round the enclosed area. One door was blasted off its hinges and flew out into the courtyard where it fell with a clattering, ringing noise. The other door, twisted and with the security bar pointing towards the sky, still clung to its hinges. From the darkness inside came clouds of smoke, dust and small particles of debris.

  Steadfast, who had so feared finding the tunnel empty, gave a cry of joy when he heard the sound of men coughing inside.

  ‘We’ve got them! We’ve bloody got them, Gozhita!’ he cried.

  Gozhita and his men were ready to rush into the tunnel and take the prisoners, but no one could see a thing. He snatched a flare from his belt, pulled the cord, and threw it into the tunnel entrance. He was standing to the left of the gaping, smoking hole; Steadfast was to the right. But under the fierce dazzling light of the flare they both saw the same alarming sight: about a half-a-dozen prisoners, each individually chained to the walls of the tunnel. The half-dozen or so Italian guards were each kneeling behind a prisoner, with their Berettas aimed towards the open doorway.

  ‘Christ!’ exclaimed Steadfast.

  ‘Holy shit!’ added Gozhita.

  The two men retreated to the safety of the cliff wall.

  ‘What now?’ asked Steadfast.

  Gozhita answered with a despairing shrug of his shoulders: ‘There’s no way we can take those guards. We’d slaughter the prisoners.’

  ‘How could they be so bloody cunning?’ asked Steadfast rhetorically. ‘To think they’ve outwitted our combined geniuses.’

  ‘And how! They’ve got us in a corner and no mistake.’

  ‘What about a smoke bomb? Or something like that?’

  ‘Commander, come down to earth. We’ve nothing left to try.’

  Just then Gozhita heard some voices from the direction of the path that came up from Bay X.

  ‘Unless …’ he began. Gozhita put a forefinger to his lips to warn Steadfast to keep silent and began to slink off towards the footpath. He waved to show Steadfast to do the same.

  ‘Mani in alto!’ cried Gozhita into the darkness as he ordered the Italians to come out with their hands up. Just to make sure there were no tricks he dropped another flare.

  At first Steadfast had no idea what Gozhita was doing but as soon as he overcame the dazzle of the flare, he saw five Italian soldiers returning from Truscott’s feint.

  ‘Drop your weapons,’ cried Steadfast as he fired off a few rounds at the feet of the Italians. The terrified soldiers instantly obeyed.

  ‘Nice work, commander. Now I think we have the upper hand.’

  Gozhita called over to his partisans and ordered them to tie up the Italians.

  ‘Time to open negotiations,’ said Steadfast in an exultant tone. He called into the tunnel: ‘Who’s in charge in there?’

  ‘I am, Capitano Santorelli.’

  ‘Now listen carefully, captain, we want these prisoners and we want them now.’

  ‘No, you listen, Inglese. This is none of your business. Where’s that filthy Gozhita rat?’

  Steadfast angrily replied, ‘None of our business? Albania is none of your business. We’re here to liberate Europe, not enslave it. So, do as I say. Hand over the prisoners.’

  ‘Get lost, Inglese!’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, captain. We’ve got five of your men here.’

  ‘Pull the other one.’

  ‘You don’t believe me? Just listen.’

  Steadfast punched one of the Italians in the ribs with his Sten gun. ‘It’s true, capitano,’ replied Lieutenant Lauricella. ‘They’ve got me with Banducci, Zambelli, Lamberti and Postiglione.’

  ‘So?’ came the voice from the tunnel.

  Steadfast replied: ‘Listen extra carefully this time captain. We’ve put a time bomb in the pile of shells in the fort. Our men are going to take your men in there, bound hand and foot, and then we’ll set the timer for 30 minutes. If we’ve not got the prisoners in 30 minutes, the fort, the prisoners, you and the tunnel will be racing to heaven in a cloud of shrapnel and bits of old fort. Got it?’ said Steadfast.

  ‘It’s a bluff.’

  ‘You think so?’

  Steadfast turned to Gozhita: ‘Take Lauricella to the fort and show him the set-up.’

  A couple of minutes later Gozhita and Lauricella were back.

  ‘Capitano, it’s true. They have put a time-bomb in the shells,’ Lauricella called into the darkness of the tunnel.

  ‘I’m not taking this shit. I don’t believe a word of it,’ came the reply.

  ‘Steadfast,’ whispered Gozhita, ‘leave this bit to me. I can do what I like. A Royal Navy officer has to abide by international rules.’

  ‘Gozhita here, captain. So you don’t believe us. Well, we’ll give you a little demonstration right here in front of the tunnel.’

  ‘Troshani, bring me a couple of shells.’

  When Troshani came back from the fort with the shells, Gozhita lay them in front of the tunnel, as far from the doorway as he could and ordered one of his Italian prisoners to be tied to the shells. Then he took out some plastic explosive …

  ‘Captain, are you watching? This is how serious we are on this side. No jokes. No tricks. Watch!’

  Gozhita proceeded to prepare the plastic explosive, keeping everything in the line of sight of the Italian captain.

  ‘You win, you filthy son of a dog,’ cried the captain. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘At last!’ cried Steadfast. ‘We’re
putting your men in the fort now. Then you’ve got thirty minutes to hand-over the prisoners.’

  It took Gozhita a minute or so to put the tied-up Italians in the fort and set the timer on the bomb. When he returned, he nodded to Steadfast to indicate that the countdown had begun.

  ‘We’re counting now, captain,’ shouted Steadfast. ‘Thirty minutes, remember.’

  ‘You’re counting! OK, count, we don’t care,’ replied the Italian captain. Steadfast turned to Gozhita: ‘I don’t like it. That captain’s treating our threat as a joke. It’s as if he knew something we don’t know.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m damned if I know. Something’s not right.’

  For the next fifteen minutes, Steadfast, shouted out the five minute markers: ‘Twenty-five … Twenty … Fifteen.’ Not a sound came back.

  ‘Gozhita, they’re not going to negotiate. We’ll have to think of something else.’

  ‘Give them another five minutes. They’ll give in. I know the Italians,’ said Gozhita in an attempt to reassure Steadfast.

  ‘Ten minutes, captain!’ shouted a very worried Steadfast. ‘What the hell are they doing?’ he asked Gozhita.

  ‘Let’s take a look.’

  Gozhita threw in a flare, which illuminated the two rows of prisoners still in the tunnel. There was not a guard to be seen.

  ‘They can’t have run off and left their mates to be blown up,’ said Steadfast. ‘Surely not?’

  Before the two men had a chance to debate the antics of their enemy, they heard the crunch of a boot and the click of metal on metal.

  ‘Hands up, filthy partisans!’

  Steadfast and Gozhita swung round to find that the soldiers from the tunnel were now in the courtyard.

  ‘You didn’t know about the service tunnel, commander?’ said the Italian captain. ‘Pity. You must learn to get better local guides than this stinking criminal,’ as he stabbed Gozhita in the stomach with his Beretta.

  ‘You … partigiano … go with my men and stop the clock on your filthy little bomb.’

  Gozhita slouched off to the west side of the fort, swearing revenge on the Italians and threatening vile acts upon their mothers and sisters.

  ***

  Lavdrim Dreshaj, glad that Gozhita had not seen him sneak off to relieve himself, was just retying his string belt on his filthy trousers when he saw a couple of Italians pushing his leader along with the barrels of two Berettas in his kidneys. He waited until they had passed. Then, taking his knife from its sheath, he leapt upon the nearest soldier and with one smooth swipe cut deep across the man’s throat. Letting go of the dying soldier, he turned to his companion, smashed him over the head with his Sten gun, pushed him onto the ground and let his knife deliver the coup-de-grace.

  ‘Dreshaj!’ whispered Gozhita, ‘a thousand thanks and blessings on your family.’ He pulled him into the fort wall. ‘Worth all that training, my young lion?’

  ‘More than worth it.’

  ‘And you and I have more work to do, lion. We’ve four more Italians to take tonight. Ready?’ asked Gozhita, picking up a Beretta from one of the dead Italians.

  ‘On the count of three … one, two, three …’

  Gozhita and Dreshaj, screaming like a pack of demented Albanian wolves, raced around the corner of the fort, guns levelled, and tore towards the four remaining Italian soldiers. The Albanians were the first to fire. Two Italians fell instantly. But the other two held their fire and faded into the darkness.

  Dreshaj and Gozhita continued to fire in the general direction of the Italians. There was no response. The firing ceased. Each man could hear his own breath and feel his own pounding heart in the silence of the courtyard. Beyond and below was the distant sound of the eternal waves washing the foot of the cliffs. Gozhita and Dreshaj began to tiptoe a few steps, then stop to listen, then move on. A sound to the left of Gozhita made him swerve round and fire a burst, all in one smooth movement. A cry came back in response and then the silence descended once more.

  The tiptoeing began again. Tiptoeing and listening. It was Dreshaj who located the last Italian. He fired towards a dark corner where he had heard the scrape of something metal against the rock wall. He squeezed the trigger and sent a flurry of bullets into the darkness. At just the same moment the Italian had fired back. He missed Dreshaj but caught Gozhita in the neck. Gozhita fell with a resounding thump and a jangle of metal from his loaded bandoliers and belt.

  Steadfast and the other partisans were in the far corner of the courtyard while this short battle was taking its heavy toll. They never knew quite what had happened. When Steadfast reached the dying Gozhita, he knelt down and cradled his head.

  ‘What a warrior you are!’ he said in admiration.

  ‘The … clock … Steadfast … less … than … a … minute …’

  With that Gozhita expired. Steadfast was torn between standing there for a moment of ritual respect, and rushing off to the bomb. Wisdom quickly overcame sentiment and he raced into the fort and tore out the wires from the detonator. As he did so, he heard a distinct ‘click’ as the two electrical contacts joined in the disconnected timer.

  Steadfast returned to the courtyard, now free of Italians, and signed to the partisans to release their countrymen. As they worked on breaking the locks and shackles, Steadfast took away Gozhita’s papers, a couple of photos, his watch and a signet ring. All that was left of a brave man.

  Steadfast was not religious in the sense of believing in anything eternal, yet he still knelt over Gozhita, closed his own eyes as if in prayer and remembered what a privilege it had been to work with this man. A few days of comradeship, which would leave a lifetime of memories.

  There was one last task to perform. He went back into the fort, reset and rewired the time-bomb and then he led the partisans down to the beach. As they reached the dinghies, the whole top of the rock face above them seemed to rise into the air and the night sky was lit up like a firework night back home in his Leicester village. What a magnificent funeral pyre for Gozhita, he thought.

  11 - MGBs under attack

  Despite his injury and his considerable losses Truscott was feeling very pleased with himself as 453T prepared to ease out of Bay X. He was, after all, only a furniture designer. He had the air of being thoughtful, mild and kindly. Never in a rush, he maintained an air of calm reason on his boat. When a man wished to make a point, he would listen attentively and incline his head as if to demonstrate his interest and concern. His one passion was yacht racing, which he had been able to indulge in peacetime through connections of his father who was a yacht builder. When asked why he had joined the RNVR his replies emphasised duty and patriotism rather than a fervent longing for the naval life. So he was as surprised as the next man to now find himself taking a key role in an operation of the highest importance. Standing on the cramped bridge of his gunboat, he pulled himself up to his full height, brushed down his dark jumper with the flat of his hand, adjusted his cap and ordered, ‘Slow head, coxswain’. As 453T left the shelter of the bay, Truscott felt the fresh night breeze on his face and smelt the salt of the open sea. In his mind he ran over the heroic account that he would give Steadfast of the night’s operations. His story would be enhanced by the wound in his shoulder, which he saw as a badge of honour. Already he was basking in the anticipated praise of his commander. Never had he been a happier or prouder man.

  ‘Boat on the starboard quarter, sir!’ cried a lookout.

  ‘Baines or Fergusson?’ asked Truscott.

  ‘It’s not one of ours, sir,’ came the reply. ‘It’s a MAS.’

  ‘Cut engines,’ ordered Truscott.

  ‘I don’t think they’ve seen us, sir.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like they have,’ answered a very relieved commander. The last thing he wanted was anything to delay his linking up with Steadfast. After all, Steadfast would now have the rescued partisans in his care and, in an hour or two, they could all head back to Alexandria. Perhaps even Cunningham would
be at the jetty to congratulate his intrepid commanders. And there might be mentions in despatches.

  ‘What next, sir?’ asked the coxswain. ‘Shall we take him? Those MAS boats have next to no firepower, except their torpedoes. We might never get this near to one again.’

  ‘Tempting, coxswain, tempting. But the minute they sight us they’ll radio the sighting. In no time at all we’ll have a pack of ships coming after us. We’ll just have to sit it out for as long as it takes. Then we’ll proceed to our rendezvous.’

  ‘Pity, sir. I fancy a scrap. We’ve got a lot to pay back those Ities for.’

  ‘Another time, coxswain.’

  Truscott’s gunboat lay still in the calm water. By now the men below realised that something was amiss, so Truscott sent down the reassuring message: ‘MAS on our starboard quarter. Hasn’t spotted us.’ Nevertheless there was a tense silence as each man froze at his task and even the rustle of a piece of paper seemed a traitorous act. A few minutes later the coxswain whispered, ‘It’s going now, sir.’ Truscott allowed the MAS half-an-hour to get well clear of 453T and then ordered slow ahead towards Point Z.

  Less than five minutes later a lookout once more called out, ‘Boat ahead.’

  ‘Looks like the same one,’ said Truscott. ‘It must be patrolling up and down the coast. It’s almost as if they know we’re here … Cut engines.’

  453T once more sat on the light sea under a star-filled sky. The only sound was the lapping of the waves against the gunboat’s hull. The peace was broken by green tracer flying down the gunboat’s length as the MAS homed in on the prey that it had now found.

  It was too late to run: the MAS with its 45 knot top speed could easily outpace the Camper and Nicholson, but Truscott was confident that the massive firepower of his boat would see off the light weaponry of the MAS.

  ‘Action stations!’

  Men dropped tools, rose from slumber, abandoned card games and raced to their stations and in a minute 453T had turned into a floating arsenal. Forward was the two-pounder pom-pom; either side of the bridge were two .05 machine guns; midships, mounted on a coach roof was a 20-mm Oerlikon; also midships were two Vickers .05 machine guns mounted on stands.