Action This Day (A Commander Steadfast Thriller) Read online

Steadfast went below to find the partisan commander. He was lying down, propped up on a narrow bunk down the side of the boat, clutching a large mug of hot cocoa and puffing away at one of his cheap cheroot.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. It’s nothing, commander. There’ll be plenty more knocks like this before we’ve pushed the Italians out of our country. I’m used to it.’

  ‘You know you’ve lost a man?’

  ‘Yes, Strakosha. A good man. One of mine. A real killer. We’ve seen a lot together. Ambushes, raids, taking out key Italians. I’d never have thought an Italian would get him like that. Perhaps he slipped, or something.’

  ‘But you and your men are ready to continue?’

  ‘Of course. We’ll never give up until we get our country back.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. We’ve come a hell of a long way ourselves to do this job. I don’t fancy turning up at Alex without our quarry. But we can’t go in again tonight – there’s barely an hour of darkness left.’

  ‘You’re right, commander. You’ll have to lay up for the night. I know just the place – an uninhabited island with several rocky inlets. We should be OK there for a while.’

  ***

  By dawn the three gunboats were holed up at a second island in an inlet with high cliffs on each side. They were near to invisible from land or sea, although clearly identifiable from the air.

  ‘What about air patrols?’ Steadfast asked Gozhita.

  ‘The Italian’s don’t bother – there’s never any Royal Navy here – apart from you, and they’ll think you’ve cleared off. We’re the only trouble-makers around here and aeroplanes are no use for getting at us. We’re snakes in the grass.’

  ‘I expect you’re right … but …’ Steadfast stopped himself, not sure whether he dare go on.

  ‘But what, commander?’

  ‘Well, Gozhita, I can’t help wondering how the Italians knew we were coming. I’ve told you before, they can’t possibly have found out from Alex.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So the Italians must either be clairvoyant – and I know lots of them think they are – or they found out from someone local.’

  ‘Suppose they did.’

  ‘If they did …’ Steadfast hesitated again.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If they did, the man who told them might well be on one of our boats.’

  Gozhita reached for a knife slung at his belt: ‘I’ll kill you, you vile dog. No one insults my men like that.’

  Without flinching, Steadfast lent forward, braving the repellent smell of his temporary ally, and said, ‘And what other explanation can you offer?’ Gozhita made no reply and sheepishly sheathed his knife.

  Steadfast hoped that he understood Albanian psychology well enough to handle this perilous situation. Gozhita could not admit the possibility of a traitor within his ranks – that would involve loss of face. But he hoped that he would now be primed to look for signs that Steadfast’s suspicions were correct.

  9 - First attack at Bay C

  While Gozhita slept, Steadfast gave orders to his commanders to make sure that their men fed well after their night’s labours before encouraging them to sleep for as long as they needed. He was determined on another attempt on the fort the next night. He was sure that Gozhita would come up with a new plan of attack once he was awake.

  When Steadfast approached him around midday, he found a cheerful Gozhita, chewing his way through several rashers of bacon while smoking one of his now all too familiar cheroots. His bodily revival was matched by the return to life of his scheming brain.

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ Steadfast asked.

  ‘Attack, of course. Tonight.’

  ‘Where and how?’ asked Steadfast, fearing that Gozhita was about to propose a suicidal attack on Bay T.

  ‘From Bay C.’

  ‘But we were supposed to take you off Bay C right at the start. Doesn’t that mean it’s no good for an attack?’

  ‘Before the Italians dumped all those rocks on the Bay T path, that was the easiest route. With that route now impossible to use, we’ll have to try the near-to-impossible Bay C one.’

  ‘Just how impossible is it?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘It’s a route of sorts, but you wouldn’t go so far as to call it a path. At the start, lower down, there’s a goat track. That’s not too bad. That takes you to a ledge. Then there’s a sheer cliff face of about ten metres. There’s no path, so it’s a rock climbing job with ropes and pitons. The Bay T route used to take about 15 or 20 minutes to reach the fort. Now we’re looking at two to three hours for Bay C.’

  ‘How do you know the Italians haven’t blocked the Bay C path as well?’

  ‘I don’t, but I bet it would never occur to them that anyone would attempt it. They’d take one look and just declare it impossible.’

  ‘So why are we even considering it?’

  ‘Because we have no choice, commander. You want Dobransky, right? Well that’s the way up to get him,’ replied Gozhita, pointing in the direction of Bay C. ‘And, anyway, who in their right mind would go up a rock face in the dark?’

  ‘No one, I suppose,’ answered Steadfast.

  ‘Except us, of course,’ retorted Gozhita with a mischievous grin.

  Having settled on their plan, Steadfast went round each of the three gunboats during the early evening to give his instructions to his commanders. Fergusson and Truscott were to take the partisans in as before, and Baines was to continue as long-stop.

  After their experience at Bay T on the previous night, Steadfast advised Gozhita on a more thorough testing of the beach before the full band of partisans was landed.

  ‘Agreed, commander. I’ve lost one man already. I’m not going to let the Italians take another to no purpose.’

  Steadfast, Gozhita and six partisans set off in a dinghy at midnight on the twenty-fifth to land on the beach at Bay C. The night was still and the sea barely moving.

  ‘Gozhita,’ said Steadfast, ‘extra quiet tonight. OK?’

  Gozhita nodded and whispered something to his men. On arrival at the beach Steadfast and four partisans stayed in the dinghy while Gozhita and two partisans checked the beach as thoroughly as was feasible in the dark. Then they examined the goat path for any signs of use or interference.

  Gozhita returned to the dinghy and whispered to Steadfast, ‘It’s all clear – no one’s been on the beach or the path recently.’

  Gozhita led the way, followed by three partisans, Steadfast and then three more partisans. The path was, as Gozhita had promised, sufficiently insignificant for the Italians to have ignored it. Indeed, Steadfast wasn’t even sure there was a path as he stumbled over rocks and slithered on loose gravel. For him, it was simply a matter of staying close behind the man in front and copying what he did.

  When the party was about half-way up the cliff face, the steep path suddenly ended and Steadfast found himself on a flat piece of ground. To his left was a sheer cliff face, towering above him; to his right was the steep rocky hillside down to the sea. Gozhita pointed forwards to a low pile of rocks. ‘There’s a ridge of rocks about ten metres long on the other side of the ledge. At the far end of the ridge is the rock face to the top,’ he whispered, ‘it will be ropes from then on.’

  Gozhita clambered up onto the rock pile and began to scramble along it towards the cliff face. Next came the first three partisans, followed by Steadfast. He had just began to clamber over the heap of boulders that linked the two paths when the man in front of him stumbled and dislodged a sizeable rock, which rolled passed Steadfast and down onto the flat area below. There was an ear-splitting roar, a mass of orange flame and smoke as the rock rolled across the ledge. Stones, soil and dust were blasted into the air and agonising screams came from out of the darkness. As the dust settled Steadfast could just make out the last three partisans, who lay writhing in pain on the ledge. One had lost a leg. Another was clutching his bleeding head and the third lay sprawled out as if his body h
ad been unnaturally pulled apart.

  Steadfast had been knocked to the ground. As he struggled to his feet, he rhetorically asked, ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘A mine,’ answered Gozhita, ‘they’ve damn-well mined the goat path!’

  ‘And with that bloody noise the Ities will know we’re coming. Christ! This action is doomed.’

  ‘Not so, not so,’ said Gozhita.

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ queried an incredulous Steadfast.

  ‘Think about it commander: they’ve mined the goat path. OK. But there’s no way they can seriously have thought anyone would attack using the rock face at night. They’d say it was madness. They’ll assume we’ll give up at this point.’

  But Steadfast protested: ‘How the hell can we attack? We’ve lost three men. They need urgent medical attention. That’s just five of us left.’

  ‘Look, commander, do you want Dobransky out or not?’

  ‘Well … yes.’

  ‘OK. We go on. I’ll send one man back to get help for the injured.’

  ‘Christ, Gozhita! So now you are proposing to attack with just four of us!’

  ‘That’s right. We’re used to that. It’s all right for you British with your big army and your huge ships. Six months ago there were no more than a handful of us. We’re still zilch compared to the Italians. But we know how to hit them where it hurts.’

  Nothing in Steadfast’s naval training and experience had prepared him for an operation that required such levels of improvisation. Gozhita took each knock as it came. He never complained. He was never discouraged. All he did was to add improvisation to improvisation as he slogged his way towards his goal.

  ‘You’re right, Gozhita, I’m with you! Sorry I doubted your judgement.’

  Gozhita led the now diminished party of four to the foot of the rock face.

  ‘I’ll go up first and bang some pitons in. When I’m at the top I’ll let a rope down for the rest of you. Is that OK with you, commander.’

  ‘More than OK, Gozhita. It will be quite like old times on Britannia.’

  ‘Isn’t Britannia the statue of some warlike woman?’

  ‘Yes. And the training ship for naval cadets. You can’t be an officer if you can’t climb tall ship masts.’

  Gozhita began banging his first piton into the rock face. After a few minutes he had disappeared into the darkness. Every now and again the hammering would recommence. Then the silence as he roped himself up a little further. Steadfast and the other two partisans sat in silence with their backs against the rock. There had been several moments during this mission when Steadfast had seen himself returning empty handed to Alexandria. Now he began to think that he would never return at all. Getting up the rock face seemed a challenge enough. But, even if they succeeded, they still had to face bringing down the partisans, quite possibly under Italian fire.

  About an hour later Steadfast heard the clinking of metal on rock at his side. There, not a yard away from him was a rope with a piton on the end. So, Gozhita was ready to help haul the rest of the party up. Steadfast removed the piton and helped the first partisan to rope himself up.

  The two partisans seemed to romp up the face. Steadfast marvelled at their agility – were all Albanians like this, or was it their months in the hills that did it, he wondered. Then came his turn. He could feel the strong pull of Gozhita and his men as he banged and bumped his way to the top.

  The rock face came out onto another ledge leading to the final path to the fort. After a short, easy walk Steadfast realised that they were nearing the small flat courtyard area on which stood the single-story fort. It was about thirty feet square and built of stone. It’s front faced west over the Adriatic Sea. It’s back faced the tunnel which led to the hinterland. (He noted that the tunnel entrance was closed off by two huge steel doors, with which he was later to become more acquainted.) The fort had two doors, a large one on the west side facing the sea and a smaller one on the south side. There were no windows or other openings. On the flat roof there was a six-inch gun of dubious vintage.

  Gozhita halted the group while he went to reconnoitre. Five minutes later he returned.

  ‘They seem to be expecting us again,’ he indignantly remarked. ‘They’ve got two sentries at each door and two sentries at the tunnel and I’m fairly certain they’ve got men on the roof as well.’

  ‘That’s too many, spread out too widely, for four of us to take,’ said Steadfast.

  ‘True, so what we need to do is get them to move.’

  ‘How?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Like this.’

  Gozhita carefully detached a grenade from his bandolier, pulled the pin, counted to two and threw it onto the roof. Steadfast heard the hard knock of steel on stone, a shout, and then came the explosion. It roared and boomed and echoed around the hollow in which the fort lay. The brief flare of the explosion lit up the two men on the roof, but they seemed to immediately fall to the ground. Then the darkness returned, a darkness full of agitated cries, shouted orders … and panic.

  ‘And now,’ said Gozhita, with the glee of a man who was enjoying his mastery of the situation, ‘for stage two. Steadfast, take my two men round to the west side. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

  Steadfast, now so impressed with Gozhita’s cool mastery of the situation, instantly obeyed the command.

  No sooner were the men in their new position than they heard the sound of another grenade going off near the tunnel entrance. Then Gozhita reappeared.

  ‘That should fool them. They’ll be round the east side looking for us,’ announced Gozhita.

  ‘And?’ said Steadfast.

  ‘Another couple of grenades should do. I’ll take the south side, you take the north. Go to the end and lob a grenade in any direction where you can hear voices. Then we’ll move in and clear up.’

  Gozhita disappeared.

  In under thirty seconds Steadfast had run to the north-east corner, thrown his grenade in the direction of some Italian voices, pulled back and waited for the explosion. A tearing, wrenching sound followed be a shower of debris and stomach-churning screams told him all he needed to know. Then he waited for the sound of Gozhita’s grenade. But it never came.

  ***

  Steadfast returned to the west side of the fort and crept round to the south side, where he expected to see Gozhita. Apart from some dead Italians lying on the ground there was nothing. Then he heard voices – voices coming from inside the fort. He sidled along the south wall until he was near to the small door. He listened. Italian and Albanian voices. He could think of no possible explanation – other than a treacherous conversation. That was it! A boiling rage surged up in him. At last he could get the scoundrel who was betraying them. He pulled a grenade from his bandolier, gripping it in his right hand while tentatively holding the pin in his left-hand. With a powerful and angry kick from his right boot he burst open the door, ready to throw the grenade and retreat rapidly.

  Steadfast was now staring into a small room, lit by a smoking oil-lamp on a battered old office desk on which were the greasy remains of an evening meal: a drained bottle of unlabelled red wine, some remnants of sausage and roughly torn-off hunks of an earthy-looking bread, several dirty plates and glasses – all the signs of a rough but leisurely evening. Behind the table was a solitary chair with a broken cane seat. Parts of the back support were sprung from their joints. On the rough white-washed stone walls were various military notices, none of which made any sense to Steadfast. The floor was covered in filthy sawdust, spit and the general detritus of coarse living. To add to the squalor of this miserable hole, the atmosphere was thick with the stench of cheap cigars and foul pipes.

  And there, in the middle of the room, were four motionless figures, standing like a chiaroscuro renaissance painting. Their left-hand sides were in near total darkness, their right-hand sides were lit by the harsh yellowish smoky light of the single lamp.

  To Steadfast’s left was Gozhita, held fast by an It
alian soldier, who was holding a gun to Gozhita’s head. To his right was a partisan holding a gun to the head of a second Italian soldier. Had a renaissance artist really painted this scene, he would surely have titled it ‘Punto Morto’ (stalemate).

  Steadfast had no idea where Gozhita’s remaining partisan was – dead perhaps. Had he been the hero in a Wild West film, Steadfast would no doubt whipped out his Colts and taken the two Italians simultaneously. He would then have blown the smoke from the barrels and calmly re-holstered his weapons, all in one smooth action. But he wasn’t. He retreated to the darkness outside.

  The darkness was a still darkness. Nothing moved on what, a few moments ago, had been their battle ground. In the silence Steadfast could hear the waves crashing on the rocks at the foot of the cliff. There was no sign of any more Italians, nor of the missing partisan. No noise came from the still-life scene inside the fort. He began to assess his situation. Rushing the Italians seemed an act of madness. At the least hint of an attack the first Italian would surely despatch Gozhita. Perhaps he should go back for reinforcements, but that could take hours – and he would have to negotiate the rock face and the mined path. By that time anything could have happened. And surely there were more Italian soldiers somewhere. There was also the question of what was in the tunnel. The more he thought about the problem, the more convinced he was that he had to act … and soon.

  And then the idea came to him. He carefully checked and cocked his pistol – he didn’t trust his Sten gun for this plan. Once more he slinked along the south wall of the fort until he was within inches of the door. Not a sound came from inside the fort but the door had swung closed so he had no way of knowing whether the deadlock had been broken and, if so, with what result. He was sure that Gozhita was up to unarmed combat and could slit a man’s throat with ease. No doubt his other partisan could too. But, on the other hand, perhaps the Italians were killers also.

  For the second time he kicked the door open. He didn’t need to look at the four men to know that they had not moved an inch. They seemed frozen in time. But all his attention was now on the lamp. He knew what to do. One shot … a tinkling of glass ... a crash as the lamp fell to the floor … and a burst of flame as the oil spurted out. A flaming tide swept across the table top and poured down to run across the floor like larva down the side of a volcano. He leapt back into the darkness outside and was rapidly followed by the four terrified men fleeing the inferno. The partisan, who had been well-splashed by the lamp oil, was rolling about on the ground, screaming and desperately trying to extinguish the flames. From somewhere in the darkness a shot rang out and the injured partisan slumped into a heap.