Enemy In Sight (A Commander Steadfast Naval Thriller) Page 4

  Steadfast dismissed the guide. The desert was now theirs.

  *

  Under the lee of the Great Pyramid they lay out their blankets, lit the oil lamp and unwrapped their meal. As they tucked into their sanbusak, meatballs, vegetables and bread and sipped their white wine they each picked out succulent bits to feed to the other. By the time the meal was over they were lying side by side under the stars with the dim oil lamp flickering in the light breeze off the desert.

  Steadfast rolled onto his side. With one arm around Virginia he looked into her eyes. After a long pause he kissed her. As he broke away he remarked ‘How odd that you should be here in Cairo.’

  ‘Odder than you think,’ replied Virginia, propping herself up on one elbow.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, they told me in London that Cairo needed some help in training some of the staff in the intelligence office. According to London I was the best person to help.’

  ‘Training’s not your thing is it?’

  ‘No. I thought it was peculiar that they picked me, but I now realise that it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You mean they don’t need you here after all?’ asked Steadfast, fearful that he was going to lose Virginia almost as soon as she had arrived.

  ‘I mean the training thing was just a cover. It’s something much more serious, George.’

  Virginia was now sitting up, while Steadfast, unaware of the import of what she was about to tell him, lay on his back with his hands behind his head.

  ‘You’re not in trouble, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I ought not to tell you… I could get into a lot of bother.’

  ‘Well I won’t press you if it’s like that.’

  ‘But I want to tell you, George. You see… you need to know.’

  ‘To know what?’

  ‘What’s happening here.’

  ‘I read the papers, listen to the gossip and that sort of thing. That’s enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘No it’s not, George. There’s some… secret things… you know…’

  ‘I’m damned if I do.’

  ‘Oh George, I must tell you. I must warn you.’

  ‘Sounds serious, old girl. Deadly serious.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘When I first went into the office here I met this girl – Caroline Waterford. She said “Things aren’t right here.”’ She showed me what she meant. There were some operations for which there were two sets of reports – different papers. In one case a report that said a valley was occupied by one group of resistance workers, and a different report that said their rival group was there. She’s the only one in the office who knows about this. She daren’t tell anyone there. Back home she knows all the top brass – her father is something big in Whitehall – so she went straight to Ritchie.’

  ‘To the general! That must have taken nerve.’

  ‘Caroline’s not short of that. She’s awfully posh and frightfully pushy. But it worked. Ritchie has asked her to sneak out the documents and type out copies for him. She’s up till all hours. I’m helping her as well, now. But no one else knows, of course.’

  Virginia continued: ‘And another thing George, this office is meant to be top secret. But if you ask a taxi driver to take you to the secret office, he doesn’t ask you the address. He knows it, George! And there’s only a single lock on the door. It’s all wrong… it really is, George.’

  ‘Then why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘Because it concerns you – concerns us, George.’

  ‘Virginia, old girl, you’re talking Greek. I don’t understand a word of it.’

  ‘You need to George. The networks can’t be trusted. Somebody, somewhere is sending in false reports and we are acting on them. Our special ops office leaks like a sieve. We’re sending men to their deaths, George.’

  ‘That’s odd. You’re the second person today to tell me that today.’

  ‘I’m frightened, George. Frightened for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ old girl, ‘I promised to come back from the Balkan raid, didn’t I?’

  ‘Well… I suppose you did. But the next?’

  *

  Steadfast sat up and pulled Virginia towards him. He stared into her eyes and said ‘At least I have my own guardian angel.’ They rolled over onto one blanket, pulled another to cover them and blew out the lamp. Under the stars they could, for a few brief hours, leave the war behind.

  ‘You’re so nice to me, George. Have you been nice to lots of other ladies?’

  ‘What a question! Well, I haven’t been nasty to them.’

  ‘You know what I mean, George. Have there been lots of romantic suppers in the shadows of the pyramids?’

  ‘No such luck. When I was first at sea there wasn’t much time for social life. No “girl in every port” for me. It was more like an empty heart in every port. Then, when I left the Navy, I started the art gallery. It was hard going. I had next to no capital. When I began to make a bit of money I took up hunting in a big way. Somehow I didn’t have time for the fair sex. Except for one girl. Things were fine until the war came…’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She married an accountant. Said she wanted a man at home, not a man away at sea.’

  ‘And now, George?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked as he embraced Virginia in a passionate kiss.

  Later, as they lay in a state of satisfied bliss, each lost in their own thoughts. Virginia wondered why she always fell for the heroic types – the ones that were least likely to come back. Steadfast had shown not the least concern at her warning. Was there nothing she could do to keep him from danger?

  Steadfast’s mind had moved beyond what Virginia had said. That was hypothetical. But what the major had told him on the train was near enough proof. He fell asleep to the refrain of “Don’t trust the networks”.

  5. Platos calls

  Steadfast left for Alexandria shortly after he and Virginia had returned from the pyramids the next day. The slow train trundled through the Nile valley under the hot morning sun. He, like all the men and officers packed into the overloaded carriages, was returning to war. The excitements of the Cairo fleshpots and the relaxations of its tourist delights faded into the past. Those about to return to sea once more faced the terrors of the dive bomber above, the torpedo below and the guns of hostile warships.

  Now separated from her lover, Virginia confronted the intractable problem of distinguishing between genuine and planted reports from agents. She had already seen just how terrifyingly unreliable some of the reports from the Aegean were. Somewhere in the network was a source sending in deceptive material. She could see that some of the requests for air-drops of arms and supplies made no sense. Arms intended for loyal resistance groups were going elsewhere – to whom, she wondered. But far more chilling were the messages requesting agent drops and landings. Which were from friends? Which were nothing but enticements to land on enemy-held beaches or fields?

  Steadfast had paid little attention to either the captain’s or Virginia’s warnings. He behaved as if he were invulnerable. He believed and acted on the maxim that fortune favours the bold – and he had no doubts that he was one of them. The trouble, he confided to himself, was finding enough men of like mind to join him in his adventures.

  *

  For the next two days Steadfast turned up at the gunboat quay to ask for news of his mission. All that Moresby could tell him was that continued operations in the Dodecanese were preventing his departure. He filled his time with leisurely and thoughtful walks along the sea-front, meals and drinks in the back street bars and the occasional visit to the Yacht Club. It was at one of these that he learned more of how the Navy viewed his presence in Alexandria.

  Steadfast was sitting in a corner of the lounge, idly sipping a beer and vaguely listening to the radio in the background. Another episode of ITMA
had just finished – a tedious programme that he detested – and the news was just starting. More gloom, Steadfast thought. The retired Admiral of the Fleet Sir Reginald Tyrwhitt was reported as saying that ‘The Navy has had a very rough time’ as he bemoaned the Admiralty’s failure to find an antidote to the magnetic mine. In the Western Desert, British forces were retreating at Benghazi and in the Far East the Japanese were within twenty miles of Singapore. ‘What this bloody war needs,’ muttered Steadfast, ‘is more men like Tyrwhitt. He knew how to fight.’ Steadfast saw himself as a worthy successor to his Great War hero. How lucky Tyrwhitt had been to have had a destroyer flotilla at Harwich. He, Steadfast, was to have some paltry gunboats at Alexandria for a fetch and carry job. No wonder we are losing the war, he thought.

  This reverie was broken when Steadfast heard someone mention his name. The voice came from behind him, where a few officers were sitting in wicker armchairs around a table loaded with drinks.

  ‘Steadfast? Wasn’t he that crazy bod they sent out from London late last year?’ said the first officer.

  ‘That’s him,’ said a second.

  ‘Sank two of our gunboats, he did. And did for Fergusson and Truscott,’ continued the first voice.

  ‘Good men, those two. Especially old Fergie. God, I learnt a lot from him,’ responded a third voice.

  ‘What happened?’ asked a fourth man.

  ‘No one really knows. It was damned hush-hush. Steadfast came back with two men. Dressed like peasants, they were. Beards like eagles’ nests. And the stench! And before anyone could get a closer look they were bundled into a truck and never seen again,’ answered the first man.

  ‘What’s Moresby say about it?’ asked the third man.

  ‘Not much. The truth is, no one will tell him what the op was all about. He doesn’t like that. For once the pompous old ass has been cut down to size,’ said the second officer.

  ‘And Steadfast?’

  ‘Now there’s a mystery man. He’s back again. Been hanging around the quay lately. God knows what it all means, but it can’t be good news.’

  Steadfast listened with a mix of wry amusement and barely-restrained anger. What did they know about Dobransky and his magic formula? He was sorely tempted to ruin their self-satisfied gossiping by introducing himself. How they would squirm, he thought. They would have to apologise. They wouldn’t like that. Then he thought better of it. Let them fight their war over beers and gin and tonics in the club. He would fight his at sea – when he was next given the chance.

  *

  When Steadfast stepped onto Moresby’s gunboat on the third morning after his return, he was not expecting any change in his idle existence. But there was.

  ‘Good thing you came, Steadfast,’ called out Moresby jauntily as Steadfast approached the gunboat. ‘It’s all clear now for the Dodecanese op. According to this Army briefing, the Italians left Platos two weeks ago and the place is now completely deserted. The agent says the transmitter’s still there – seems an odd thing to worry about.’

  ‘I rather think I know why Ritchie might be worried about it,’ responded Steadfast with a hint of mystery.

  ‘Really? How on earth can you know what’s inside the general’s head?’

  ‘Just a passing remark of someone in the know…’ teased Steadfast.

  ‘Tittle-tattle!’ replied Moresby, who could never accept that he was not the best informed commander in the fleet. ‘You must learn not to pay any attention to gossip, Steadfast. This place seethes with spies and rumour-mongers. Anyway, whatever their reasons, the Army seem to want the transmitter out of the way. I suppose they know what they’re doing, but sometimes I wonder. They use all that blood and sweat to fight their way over to El Agheila and now Rommel’s pushing them back. Rum way to fight a war.’

  ‘I expect they said the same thing about us when they heard of the sinking of Repulse and Prince of Wales,’ replied Steadfast.

  ‘With good reason!’ continued Moresby, ‘Someone’s head should role for that. But, back to business. This Platos thing should be a piece of cake. I can’t think why we should worry about any complications there. Who’s ever heard of it? Can’t be much of a place. If it was of any importance, I’d go myself, but we’ve higher priorities here. While you’re off on a run to a deserted island, the rest of my flotilla will be supporting a run into Tobruk. Now there’s a place no commander likes to come alongside. It needs all the tricks in the book. That’s why I’m packing off Montague and Elliston with you. They aren’t quite ready for Tobruk, so a work up in the Dodecanese will do no harm.’

  ‘Perhaps there’ll be room at Tobruk for me another time?’ hazarded Steadfast.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Steadfast. We’ll get along alright if you keep off my patch – that’s flotilla work. Anything you do has to be requested by HMS Nile or Whitehall. I can’t argue with them.’

  ‘But you can with me?’

  ‘You’ve got it, Steadfast. And don’t you damn well forget it.’

  ‘No chance of that. I know I’m not welcome round here. But I’m ordered to Platos, so that’s that.’

  ‘Indeed. You’ll find lieutenants Montague and Elliston in the stores’ shed. They’re already checking supplies for Platos.’

  *

  Steadfast crossed to the back of the quay, where a long line of sheds and workshops housed the paraphernalia of a flotilla at war. He was deep in thought about his conversations with Virginia and Moresby. From what Virginia had told him, there was every reason to believe that Ritchie knew something and therefore there was a very good reason for going after the transmitter. But if Moresby was right, it was a lot of fuss over nothing. Whom should he believe?

  As he pondered this question, Steadfast passed from the blinding sun on the quay into the dark obscurity of one of the sheds The hot interior smelled of the creosoted timbers of the building, mingled with the oily smell of fuel and machinery. Oil barrels, ropes, tackle and tins of paint were stacked up in tottering piles. Rummaging through a collection of ship’s lights were two lieutenants. He wondered if Walker knew the chaotic state of this store. The taller of the two officers turned towards him.

  ‘Commander Steadfast? I’m Montague. Ralph Montague. And this is Arthur Elliston.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Elliston.

  The voices were enough. So these are the two men who were talking about me in the club, thought Steadfast. In a flash he realised how lucky he was that they did not know that they had been overheard.

  Montague was tall and heavily built. He had a strange quizzical, hesitant look on his face and seemed more like a man lost than a man of action. The only youthful thing about him was the freshness of his complexion. Only in war, thought Steadfast, would someone like this get into the Navy. Another Baines? he wondered.

  Elliston could not have been more different. He was short – very short – thin, wiry and with rapidly receding hair. He was all muscle and bone, giving him the air of a man ready to spring into action. Aged twenty-one he seemed to combine youthful vigour with a maturity way beyond his years.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Steadfast, ‘I’m told we’re going to work together.’

  ‘That’s correct, sir,’ replied Elliston.

  ‘Well let’s have a chat over coffee before we start in earnest. There’s a nice quiet place quite near here.’

  Steadfast took the two lieutenants off to the Arabian Nights café and they settled into a secluded corner at the back of the room.

  ‘So, you’re both RNVR. Any family connections with the Navy?’

  ‘My father was a captain, sir,’ responded Elliston eagerly. But he had to retire. You know how it was with all the cutbacks after the war. There was no hope of a ship. I rather hope that this war will give me a ship one day.’

  ‘Let’s hope it does. And you, Montague?’

  ‘No naval connections, sir. My father’s a stock farmer. We’re all country people in our family. When the war started I was at college studying stock farming.’
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  ‘No naval ambitions then?’

  ‘Not really, sir. I’m here to do my duty – that’s why I signed up for the reserve in 1938 – after Munich, you know. But I’d rather be back on the farm in Herefordshire.’

  This was now a familiar pattern to Steadfast. The Navy seemed to be flooded with RNVR officers, some of whom served with reluctance, some with aspirations as grand as his own. Elliston was his type: energetic and ambitious. Montague was the follower type. He would do what he was told, but he was not to be relied on when initiative was called for.

  Steadfast turned back to the practicalities of the mission: ‘How are you getting along with the supplies?’

  ‘Just about done, sir,’ replied Montague. ‘We’re fuelled up and there’s food and water for three days. Full magazines. That should be enough for a day out, a day hanging around for the Army and a day back. Nice straight run.’

  ‘And if it isn’t?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Isn’t what, sir?’ queried Montague, with his habitual look of total confusion.

  ‘A nice straight run,’ replied Steadfast with some irritation.

  ‘I don’t understand, sir. Have we some other orders as well?’

  ‘No other orders, but in my experience the unexpected usually happens: breakdowns, diversions to avoid Jerry or the Ities, let alone running into trouble. And remember, we’ve no guarantee that the island will be as peaceful as we’ve been told.’

  ‘So what should we do?’ asked Montague.

  ‘Take everything you can think of: more food, more water, hand grenades, machine guns, smoke bombs… something tells me we need to be prepared for action – action when we least expect it. And don’t forget lots of medical supplies.’

  ‘Sir, are you keeping something back from us?’ asked Elliston.

  ‘No, Elliston. At least nothing I can put my finger on. Just signs, hints, vague indications that there’s something not right about this mission.’