Enemy In Sight (A Commander Steadfast Naval Thriller) Read online

  No one could accuse the dashing and even foolhardy Steadfast of lacking courage, but he did not look forward to meeting Moresby again. The flotilla commander had taken against Steadfast from the moment that he had arrived at Alexandria for the Balkan raid last November. Under orders from London, Moresby had had to surrender three boats to Steadfast. From that moment onwards their relationship had soured by the day. Steadfast realised that his presence on the quay now was Cunningham’s retribution. Moresby would also be wanting his pound of flesh. There was no hope of a welcome, and even less of a rapprochement. He was persona non grata throughout the Mediterranean Fleet and the last man that Moresby wished to see on the quay.

  Moresby had heard the taxi arrive and was already on the deck of one of the gunboats to observe Steadfast’s return. He mentally glowered at the cocksure commander with his supercilious air, walking towards him as if he owned the quay. ‘Cocky bastard,’ he muttered to himself.

  ‘So, you’re back,’ Moresby growled.

  Steadfast looked up from the quayside to see the huge bulk of the six foot tall officer towering over him. His balding crown glistened with the sweat of a man for whom rapid movement was a strain on his constitution. His four-square stance gave the impression of his wishing to block Steadfast’s boarding, while the irritable look on his face showed that he had no intention of welcoming his new attachment.

  ‘You don’t know the trouble I’ve had getting replacements for those two boats you sunk.’

  ‘Actually, Moresby, one broke down and the other was sunk by the Italians. And, as you know, I was only obeying orders, as we all have to.’

  ‘Uh! What are you here for anyway?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Steadfast. ‘I was hoping for another destroyer on the east coast convoy run. That’s where the action is: Stuka dive bombers, Heinkel torpedo planes, and masses of E-boats. It’s real war there.’

  ‘Damned impertinence!’ said Moresby, his face puffing out with anger. ‘We’ve got enough “real war” here alright. Just wait till you do a run to Tobruk. Guns ashore, planes above and subs below. And we load and unload under enemy fire for forty-five minutes, I’ll have you know. If you want action, or “excitement” as you seem to call it, you’ll get more than enough here.’

  ‘So what are we doing next?’

  ‘“We” aren’t necessarily doing anything. My orders for you are “keep out of trouble”,’ said Moresby with a supercilious smile.

  ‘I don’t follow you, Moresby,’ Steadfast heatedly replied, ‘which boats am I to take command of?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘What do you mean “none”?’

  ‘I mean that I have no need of you for normal flotilla duties. We’re back to strength – no thanks to your Albanian tomfooleries – and I’ve got two new lieutenants. They’re a bit green, but I’m working on them. So I’ll call on you if and when you’re needed.’

  ‘And until then?’

  ‘That’s your business.’

  All this conversation had taken place with Moresby standing on the deck of a gunboat while Steadfast remained below him on the quay. Moresby was clearly determined to do all he could to assert his authority. With luck, Moresby thought, he could drive Steadfast out of his flotilla before there had been any chance of action. Steadfast took his leave and walked away with the best swagger that he could muster in the circumstances. Once at a respectable distance from Moresby’s flotilla he took out his anger on the odd buckets and cans on the quay. The cries of a dozen or so angry gulls echoed his hostility as the birds rose up and screeched around his head.

  *

  How different things were compared to last November, Steadfast thought, as he walked back into the city. That was the time of the highly secret Balkan raid, when he had received his orders direct from the First Sea Lord himself at Admiralty House. Subservient Wrens had buzzed round him to anticipate and meet his every need. Yet when he had returned to Admiralty House a week ago for details of his next posting he had been received by a surly duty officer, who simply handed him an envelope. Not a single Wren moved to show any appreciation of the hero of the Balkan raid. The duty officer knew nothing about Steadfast’s new posting, and Steadfast knew little more even after reading his orders. He had basically been told that he was to return to Alexandria and report to the commander-in-chief. When he had arrived at Cunningham’s office, his staff had simply redirected him to Moresby. In December he had been a VIP. Now he was just another officer scurrying around looking for something constructive to do. Puzzled and hurt by the Navy’s apparent lack of appreciation of his capacity to wage aggressive war, Steadfast turned to his friend in the Supplies Office at the fleet headquarters in HMS Nile.

  HMS Nile, housed in part of the grand Ras-el-Tin Palace, was the fleet’s shore establishment. Now that Steadfast was officially with the fleet, he had no trouble gaining access to Lieutenant Commander Hugh Walker’s office. It was a large room, crammed with old desks, each piled high with heaps of tattered files, each with a man labouring away at the tedious routine of administering a great fleet. Above them the lazy ceiling fans stirred the steamy atmosphere, their blades making a gentle beating noise like that of the wings of a giant bird. A phone was ringing at an unmanned desk. No one bothered to answer it. The only movement was that of a Wren pushing a trolley of files from desk to desk, dropping off a file here, picking up another there.

  Steadfast segued his passage across the room to Walker’s desk. The two men had served together on HMS South Riding. Since then their careers had diverged. Walker’s injury to his left leg made him unfit for sea duty so he was now behind a desk. Steadfast could never have stuck an office job, but the tubby ginger-haired Walker was the dutiful plodding type. Given a task, he did it. Otherwise he was content to laze around in one of Alexandria’s numerous bars or sun himself on Stanley Bay beach, where he could admire the minimally clad young women who were sunbathing or playing beach games. Why, Walker wondered, did he never meet their like in the city’s numerous bars and clubs? When he wanted to catch up with home news he would go the Yacht Club and settle down with the local English paper or the latest editions of Picture Post and The Illustrated London News. But his favourite source of information was gossip. His magpie mind collected all the latest stories, with a preference for the salacious and an indifference to their veracity. It was this weakness that was of such value to Steadfast.

  Walker was delighted to see that Steadfast had returned to Alexandria. They hadn’t met since he had briefed him on Moresby and his gunboat commanders last year. And not even Walker’s numerous sources had been able to enlighten him as to what had happened on the Balkan raid.

  ‘I thought you were in disgrace around here,’ said Walker.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Well, yes, actually. But what happened? All we know is that only one gunboat came back and Baines has been packed off to the mental hospital. What happened to lieutenants Fergusson and Truscott?’

  ‘They’re dead.’

  ‘No wonder I get black looks whenever I mention your name.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. I only followed orders and did my duty.’

  ‘What exactly did you do? No one around here has a clue. It seems to be the best kept secret in the Med.’

  ‘Sorry, old man, but so it has to remain. I can’t tell even you where we went or what we did. If you knew, you’d probably be shipped home or something.’

  ‘Phew! Like that is it? But we can still chat about other things?’

  ‘Of course. That’s why I’m here. No business today.’

  ‘OK. These blasted files can wait. It’s only stuff about routine resupplies – a day or two either way makes no odds. Let’s go to the Tutankhamun. It’s a nice little bar and they know me there so we won’t get overcharged.’

  A short while later the two men were sitting at a small round three-legged table on the pavement outside the Tutankhamun in a quiet back street. Overhead, a red and white stripped awning kept off th
e angry sun. As they relaxed with their cold beers on the table, they looked out onto the bustling street life as men, women and donkeys pushed and jostled along the narrow roadway. All were indifferent to the war that had engulfed the life of the two officers.

  ‘So what are they saying about me?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Rumour has it that Cunningham is livid at your being here and that Moresby is dreaming up schemes to ruin your career. They’re out to get you, those two. What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing – at least nothing that I wasn’t ordered to do.’

  ‘Some nothing!’

  ‘It’s really not my fault, Hugh. It’s London – and Churchill. Here in the Med they don’t like anyone telling them what to do. But you know Churchill – always likes to interfere. Some of us get caught in the middle. Result? I get sent here and there like a spare part. It’s not by my choice.’

  ‘Didn’t they give you a chance to refuse?’

  ‘Not really. I told the Admiralty that I’d like to go back to convoy work, but they took no notice.’

  ‘So what are you doing here?’

  ‘No idea. And that’s the truth. Awaiting orders, I suppose.’

  ‘And where are you staying?’

  ‘I’m at the Golden Scarab until I find somewhere better.’

  ‘That flea pit! Why not move in with me? There’s two of us in the flat, but we’ve masses of space and a marvellous servant called Mo.’

  ‘Sounds ideal – as long as Moresby’s not a regular visitor!’

  ‘No chance. He’d find us – how can I put it? – a little bit too relaxed.’

  *

  For the next few days Steadfast was left alone by both Cunningham and Moresby. He settled into Walker’s flat and soon found a bosom friend in the other temporary resident.

  Lieutenant Archie Stanmore had joined the SAS in September 1941 and was now a hardened desert man. He had been picked out by David Stirling both for his reputation as a rebellious type (he had been expelled from two schools) and for his deep knowledge of the Arabs and Arabic. Between the wars he had joined several expeditions to explore the Libyan desert and learnt the art of navigating with a sun compass by day and a theodolite by night. When not out in the desert, Stanmore more or less camped in Walker’s flat. He slept on the floor, washed little and made no attempt to trim either his ragged beard or his tangled hair. For once, none of this mattered to the normally fastidious Steadfast, who was just pleased to find someone with his lust for action and who welcomed his presence in Alexandria. The two men went for long walks in the back streets and even longer sojourns in numerous bars. Stanmore recounted night raids on Italian airfields and fuel dumps, while Steadfast responded with tales of chasing E-boats and conning torpedo bombers. Their conversation left Steadfast torn between his longing to return to hunting down E-boats in the North Sea and a burning desire to join the SAS on their raids on Italian airfields in Libya. Or perhaps they could even dream up some amphibious operation, he thought. Walker, meanwhile, stood back from this mutual bragging. He had never been able to take warfare that seriously.

  But since no action was on offer, Steadfast settled back to enjoy Alexandria, the flat and the services of the devoted Mo. It was such a change from his nomadic existence of the last couple of months. Mo did the laundry and the cooking with an enthusiasm that astonished Steadfast. His services even extended to organising the stream of parties and entertainment that filled Walker’s leisure hours. Steadfast soon began to fear that he would get too used to this soft environment. He needed action.

  *

  Around this time Cunningham asked Moresby to come to see him.

  ‘Ah, Moresby! Glad you could come. I think we’ve got something for Steadfast.’

  ‘What would that be, sir?’

  ‘A taxi job. Just the sort of thing to persuade him that Alexandria has nothing worthwhile to offer him.’

  ‘And the details?’

  ‘It’s an Army thing. You know about Kasos don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s an island between Crete and Karpathos. Whose interested in that?’

  ‘We were interested. The Army had a plan to take it. The idea was that it would give us control of the Kasos Straits. They even had a plan to mount a great big gun there and bombard Karpathos airstrip.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘Cancelled. Hours before we were due to go in. I was damned furious. I tried every argument in the book but they wouldn’t budge.’

  ‘So are we going in for real now, sir?’

  ‘No, looks like Kasos is off for good. Damned shame! This time the Army has its eyes on a pathetic uninhabited island of Platos – it’s about 25 miles north of Kasos. There’s a disused Italian radio station there. The general wants his men to demolish it before the Germans move in and make use of it. Rum sort of thing to bother about if you ask my opinion.’

  ‘Did they, sir?’

  ‘Did they what?’

  ‘Ask you for your opinion?’

  ‘No. And I’d have given an earful about such piddling jobs it they had… except that I thought it might just settle our Steadfast problem.’

  ‘I think I get your drift, sir. Uninhabited island. Small building. Land men. Demolish. Return.’

  ‘Yes, Moresby. A Steadfast job! It’ll keep him out of the way and there’s nothing else there for him to get mixed up in.’

  ‘Sounds like a good scheme, sir.’

  ‘I hope so. And with luck, we win both ways. If Steadfast does the job, it’s nothing to brag about and he’ll soon get the message that we have no need of him. And if he messes it up, perhaps Churchill will lose interest in him and he can be shipped elsewhere.’

  ‘Heads we win, tails Steadfast loses.’

  ‘That’s it, Moresby.’

  3. A call to action

  On the day that Cunningham and Moresby concocted their plan to get Steadfast out of their way, Steadfast was in a pessimistic mood. After a week of inaction in Alexandria, combined with the frustration of listening to Stanmore’s tales, he was itching for combat. Yet there was no indication that he was to be assigned to any operational duties. All he could do was to brood on the changes in his fortune. In the last year he had survived three sinkings, had sunk E-boats, downed a torpedo plane, rescued men from death in the North Sea and brought back Dobransky from Albania. And now, if Virginia, his so recently acquired lover, were to ask him what he had been up to, what could he say in reply? He both yearned to see her and feared to see her. The yearning was man’s nature; the fear came from his militarily-neutered status.

  *

  When Steadfast paid his morning visit to the gunboat quay early on the following day, he was surprised to see Moresby relaxing on deck in the warm sunshine. With a pipe in his mouth and his large feet on the gunwale he had an unaccustomed air of contentment about him. Something, thought Steadfast, must have pleased him. This suspicion was reinforced as Moresby jumped to his feet to greet Steadfast. With an uncharacteristic beaming smile, he warmly hailed the wayward commander.

  ‘Good to see you, Steadfast. Something’s come up for you. Come aboard!’

  Steadfast immediately realised what the source of Moresby’s cheerful disposition was: he had found a means to get him out of the way. But Steadfast did not mind. Nothing would please him more than to escape his indolent life.

  Steadfast leapt up the gangway with the eagerness of a new recruit and the self-confidence of a seasoned officer. He joined Moresby on the bridge. Moresby opened the conversation:

  ‘The Army’s asked for a bit of help. They want us to ferry some commandos to a demolition job. Up in the Dodecanese.’

  ‘Don’t they normally use a sub?’

  ‘They do, but they want the job done pronto and there’s a desperate shortage of subs. Anyway, this place is abandoned, so you’ll be in and out with no trouble.’

  Steadfast doubted that there was such a thing as an operation that was “no trouble”. But, trouble or not he would be at
sea and out of Moresby’s normally scowling presence.

  ‘Sounds OK to me. And it would be good to get acquainted with the Aegean. We’re bound to have a lot of action there one day. Churchill’s dead set on pushing the Ities out from there. When do I start?’

  ‘In five days or so. There’s some other op going on for a few days in that area so we’ve been told to keep out of the way for the moment.’

  ‘And the men and boats?’

  ‘You’ll have two gunboats with lieutenants Montague and Elliston. The Army chap’s called Duckworth. He’s on leave for a few days but he should be back shortly.’

  For once Moresby offered his hand as they parted. Steadfast felt the strong grip of the beefy flotilla commander and almost detected a touch of warmth. This time he walked back along the quay in good humour, leaving the seagulls to scavenge in peace.

  *

  When Steadfast arrived back at Walker’s flat he found Mo hovering in the entrance-way while looking anxiously up and down the street. Before Steadfast had reached him, Mo shouted ‘Cable, commander, cable!’ Steadfast, assuming that the cable was some routine message in connection with his forthcoming command, took the envelope, thanked Mo in a casual way, and shoved it into his pocket. It couldn’t be urgent, he told himself, since the operation was not to start for five days. Mo’s disappointment at being excluded from even a hint of the cable’s contents was clear from the despondent look on his face. He hovered expectantly, but all that Steadfast said was ‘Just routine… By the way, I’ll be out this morning.’

  Steadfast wandered off to a waterfront bar, picking up a copy of a local English newspaper on the way. As he settled down to a steaming glass of tea he looked out over the waterfront. The lack of large warships was a clear sign of the weakness of the Mediterranean Fleet. He turned to his paper. There was no hopeful news from the home front, where the government were introducing new powers to enforce compulsory fire-fighting duties – a indication that there was no let-up in the bombing raids. The news from North Africa – if Italian leaks counted as news – was even worse. According to the newspaper the Italians were claiming that the Axis was preparing a counter-move following the withdrawal of British troops from Libya to support Greece.