Go In and Sink! (13 page)

‘Possibly.’ Simeon took several more seconds to study the file. ‘But I’m not here to discuss him.’ He was momentarily confused. Off balance. ‘The important thing is
that
I, that is
we
, have another job lined up. I’ve been burning the midnight oil for weeks with the Intelligence boys, waiting to hear that you’d sunk that supply boat and were ready for recall. Personally, I’d have requested that Browning’s plan be cancelled from the start. U-192 might have been destroyed, and we’d have lost a valuable commodity with her. As it worked out, we gained. The brass were impressed, and we have been given more scope perhaps because of their inflated optimism.’

Marshall said bluntly, ‘Captain Browning’s idea will have saved many lives. Troopships which might otherwise have been sunk will now stand a better chance of reaching harbour. Escorts with the new knowledge, and until the Germans discover otherwise, will catch more U-boats than they would without it.’

Simeon sighed gently. ‘I can see that Buster’s been talking to you!’ He smiled. ‘No matter. Hear
me
out now.’

Somewhere overhead feet moved restlessly on the bridge gratings and a tannoy croaked, ‘Chief cook report to the galley!’ So U-192’s men were coming aboard now. To their first good meal for weeks.

Simeon continued, ‘To lose a troopship, or any vessel in wartime, is a bad business. But if we threw in the towel after our record in disasters we’d have been polished off years back.’ He leaned on the desk, his eyes very bright. ‘But this is the year to change all that. For the first time the Atlantic battle is on the turn. More U-boats sunk, more convoys getting through. In North Africa the Germans are on the run. By next month the Afrika Korps will be forced to surrender or get out of the fight as best they can. Their own Dunkirk, if you like. After that the Allies will have to take the plunge. Force an invasion in Europe.’ He lowered his voice slightly. ‘And it will have
to
be
perfect
. The top-secret table is on this, of course, but we’re going into Sicily and up through Italy.’

Marshall remembered Browning’s enthusiasm when they had first met. Almost his own words.

Simeon added, ‘Our people will try to make a secret pact with the Eye-ties, of course, so that as we advance they will come over to our side. Leave the Germans on their own.’

‘They’re not going to like that’ He watched Simeon’s quick movements. The unruffled confidence. He could still not see what Gail had found in him that had made her turn her back on Bill.

‘An understatement. And
that
is why this invasion must go like a clock! All over Europe the occupied countries will be waiting and watching to see how we get on. Another Crete, another Singapore, another anything, and our chance of invading Northern France and bashing on to Berlin will be set back for years. Maybe forever.’

‘I still don’t see——’

Simeon raised one hand. ‘You will. You must. For years we’ve had agents in every occupied country. Working with the Resistance, forming new groups, supplying anyone who can pull a trigger or place a dagger in a Jerry’s ribs. These groups, partisans, patriots or bloody bandits, call them what you will, are the ones who can help us. If they lose confidence it will be a long hard slog all the way, that is if our men even get off the beaches. I have been told that within two months of the German surrender or retreat from Africa we will launch our invasion on Sicily. Think about it. It could be just three months or so from this moment.’ He paced rapidly back and forth across the cabin. ‘All the waiting. Seeing old
friends
die because of stupid unpreparedness, dull minds at the top, the sheer bloody waste of it all. This time we will pipe the tune!’

Marshall asked, ‘Where do I come in?’

‘Where you have the best chances of continuing with deception, using it as a weapon no less deadly than bomb or torpedo.’ He paused, his face flushed. ‘I want you out in the Med. again. You know the stamping-ground well. You’re at home there. Top security as before, but that’s our problem, not yours. You will operate whenever and wherever you can do the most good. From what I’ve heard, you have a facility for causing chaos. Together we can give the enemy a real foretaste of what he has coming.’

Marshall rubbed his chin. ‘Landing raiding parties and that sort of thing?’

Simeon smiled. ‘Later. First tell me what you think of the prospect?’

‘I’ve already done several cloak-and-dagger operations.’

Simeon twisted his mouth. ‘Acting as a ferry-boat. Taking extra risks, of course, but without actually doing anything to hurt the enemy.’

Marshall eyed him coolly. How much time had Simeon been at sea since he had first met him in submarines, he wondered?

‘I can see the possibilities. But it would put a double strain on my crew. It’s no joke being hunted by your own ships and aircraft.’

‘Who are you kidding?’ Simeon grinned broadly. ‘Things can’t have changed that much since I was doing patrols. I seem to recall that one submarine returning from her billet off the Hook of Holland made a signal which said she was coming home to base,
friendly
aircraft permitting!’

Marshall smiled despite his caution. ‘Agreed. The boys in airforce blue can be hasty with the bomb switch. But this last job taught me what it’s really like to be an enemy of both sides.’

Simeon seemed content for the present. ‘Good. That’s settled then. I’ll have a talk with your people. Secrecy, keeping mum and all that rot. I think they’ll see the sense of it. Their own lives will be depending on good security.’

‘What about leave?’

‘Leave? You have to be joking. Don’t forget you were recalled earlier than expected. Anyway, most of your chaps have been ashore for months, training and so forth. Bit of sea-time’ll do them good.’ He allowed his face to become grave. ‘That does not apply to you and some of the others of course. It’s asking a helluva lot from you. I know it But we simply can’t afford to spread our resources too thinly. Nor can we allow the grass to grow under our feet.’ The gravity vanished. ‘Go in and sink. Hit and run. That’s going to be your job, and you can do it!’

Marshall stood up, seeing himself again in the bulkhead mirror. Tousled hair, oil-stained sweater and this worn reefer. Against Simeon’s sleek image it was like a ‘before and after’ advertisement.

‘I’d like to tell my officers in my own way, sir.’

‘Certainly. Might be able to wangle a couple of days leave for a few special cases. Your Number One, for instance. Can’t promise of course.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Good. I must be off. No rest on this appointment.’ He was groping vaguely through his brief-case when he asked, ‘I believe you knew my wife at some time in the past?’

Marshall watched him. ‘Yes.’

‘Splendid.’ He was being very casual. Relaxed. ‘I’ve got a commandeered house a few miles from the loch.
You
must drop in before we start jumping again. Have a bite to eat. Get the smell of diesel out of your belly, eh?’ He swung round, his eyes searching. ‘How about it?’

‘Thanks.’ He paused. ‘It was bad luck about Bill Wade.’

‘Wade?’ Simeon smiled distantly. ‘Oh, yes, it was. Still, these things happen.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Hardly any of the old crowd left now. Frightful waste. Could use a few of their sort at this stage, I can tell you.’ He snapped the brief-case shut and locked it in two quick actions. ‘See you tomorrow. Soon as you’ve had breakfast. Suit you?’

‘Yes.’

He watched him stride to the door. For just those quick seconds he had seen through Simeon’s guard, that façade of efficiency and self-control. Hostility or guilt, or it could have been the harboured resentment that he had known Gail even before Bill.

He picked up his cap and left the cabin. When he reached the entry-port where the quartermaster was lounging and yawning against his little desk he asked, ‘Are all my people off now?’

The seaman lurched to attention, his eyes moving over Marshall’s crumpled uniform.

‘Yessir. ’Cept the engineer officer. ’E’s still aboard.’

Marshall nodded and thrust aside the heavy canvas blackout curtain, feeling the chill wind across his face, the smell of the land nearby.

He clambered down a ladder to the catwalk and across the deserted H-boat to where the duty officer from the depot ship was checking mooring wires with a torch. Over the small, unsteady brow and then hand over hand up the ladder beside the wet conning-tower.

A muffled sentry mumbled something as he lowered
himself
through the oval hatch which in weeks had become so familiar to him.

He found Frenzel in the wardroom, still in the filthy boiler-suit, his hair over his forehead as he stared at the glass between his fingers.

‘All right, Chief?’ Marshall’s voice was soft, but in the empty boat it sounded like an intrusion.

Frenzel stared up at him, his eyes dull with fatigue. And loss. ‘You
knew
, didn’t you, sir?’

Marshall nodded. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I had to agree. Now I’m not sure.’

Frenzel reached over his head and without looking pulled another glass from a locker.

‘I’d have done the same in your shoes.’ Frenzel’s hand shook badly as he slopped neat gin into the glass. ‘Join me?’

Marshall sat down slowly. Feeling the man’s hurt. His complete despair.

‘I think I can arrange leave for you, Chief. Before we shove off again.’

Frenzel drained his glass, some of the gin running down his chin like tears.

‘Off again? So soon?’ He nodded stiffly. ‘I guessed that would happen. Only way.’ He seemed to realise what Marshall had said. ‘Leave? Thanks, but no. Her father did all he could. The grave. That sort of thing. Going there won’t bring them back. This way I can hold on to something.…’

Marshall looked away. ‘Come over to the
Guernsey
, Chief. To my cabin if you like. I’ll send for some food.’

Frenzel said vaguely, ‘Shoving off so soon, eh? That’s good. What I like about the sea. You get lost in it. You forget.’

He stood up and carefully removed the photographs from his bunk. As he laid them in his wallet something dropped across them. This time it was not gin.

Marshall switched off the wardroom light and together they walked in silence towards the conning-tower hatch. On the open bridge. Frenzel paused and gripped at the screen and stared up at the sky. The clouds were moving fast but had thinned considerably so that it was possible to see the stars far above them.

Frenzel said quietly, ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.’

‘I know.’ Marshall groped for the ladder. ‘I never doubted it.’

They reached the depot ship and then Frenzel added, ‘I’ll turn in, I think.’ He tried to smile but it would not come. ‘There’s always tomorrow. That’s what they say.’ He lurched against the quartermaster’s desk and then headed away towards the cabin flat.

The same O.O.D. came through the screen, rubbing his hands and stamping his feet to restore the circulation. He glanced after Frenzel and grinned.

‘Home is the sailor, eh, sir?’

Marshall faced him calmly. ‘One of these days.’ he saw the young officer flinch, ‘I hope that just
once
I shall hear you say something which is neither stupid nor childish.’ With a curt nod to the quartermaster he strode towards the companion ladder.

The O.O.D. turned away, blushing with embarrassment. What the hell had he said? Who did Marshall think he was?

He glared at the quartermaster’s cheerful face and snapped ‘Don’t stand there gawping! Do something!’

‘Aye, aye, sir!’ The seaman could hardly keep from
grinning
. ‘At once, sir!’ He watched the lieutenant hurry away. Bloody officers, he thought. Didn’t know when they were well off. The O.O.D. would be in a foul mood for the rest of the watch now. He chuckled. It had been worth it to see the sub’s skipper hack him down to size.

Very carefully he opened the gangway log book and eased out his last letter from home.

Throughout the moored depot ship Marshall’s men prepared to settle down for the night.

With the hot water almost touching his mouth Lieutenant Devereaux lay full length in a bath, his mind drowsing and rewakening as he thought of the bullet which had clipped through his coat, missing his heart by inches. In his cabin Gerrard sat with a half-finished letter to his wife. Not knowing how to complete it, or whether he should first find out about the chances of leave. In the adjoining cabin Frenzel lay face down on the bunk, still in his boiler-suit, his legs outstretched as he had fallen. He was not asleep. Nor did he want to. He was afraid of losing the mental picture. As he had last seen them. Waving to him as he had gone to catch his train. Once he twisted his head to listen. In the next cabin he could hear young Warwick pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Three paces this way. Three back again. Poor little bastard. But with luck he’d get over his brief moment of horror. Whereas.… Frenzel buried his face in his pillow, his shoulders jerking violently to his grief.

In another part of the ship, in a large cabin which they shared together, the chief petty officers sat around a table in contemplative silence while Starkie, the wizened coxswain, refilled their mugs with hoarded rum.

Keville, the chief electrical artificer, swilled the rum around his mug and smacked his lips.

‘Well, ’Swain, what d’you think?’

Murray, the chief engine-room artificer, was lolling forward his eyes almost shut.

‘Wot about?’

The coxswain regarded them both with a thin smile.

‘I
think
we’ll have another tot all round, right?’ Keville shook his head, the action making him wince. ‘No, I mean about the last patrol.’

Starkie sighed. One more swallow of rum and he would go under. He had it timed almost to the spoonful.

‘I never think about the last one, matey. Nor the next one neither. I just think of
now
.’

He pushed the bottle to safety as Murray’s head came down on the table with a dull thud.

Keville eyed him blearily. ‘You
worried
then?’

‘Course I’m bloody worried!’ Starkie gave a relaxed grin. ‘This silly sod might have broken our bottle!’