Go In and Sink! (31 page)

Frenzel stood up abruptly. ‘A good engineer is never satisfied with anything.’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘Christ, I must be getting old. I should have realised. You want
me
to make it easy for you. Provide a let-out.’

Devereaux said, ‘It’s not like that. Number One doesn’t seem to know what——’ He got no further.

Gerrard said harshly, ‘When I want your opinions, I’ll bloody well ask for them!’ He swung on Frenzel. ‘You don’t understand! I’m not trying to shirk responsibility!’

Frenzel stared at him. ‘What the hell has responsibility got to do with it?’ He walked round the table. ‘He’s your friend, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he do the same for you? At least have a
try?
’

Gerrard looked down at the table. ‘I know. It’s not that.’

Frenzel added quietly, ‘I thought you had more guts.’

‘What d’you know about it?’ Gerrard was on his feet, too. ‘You haven’t got a wife! It’s easy for you to make snap decisions which might kill all of us!’ He saw the expression on Frenzel’s face and said, hoarsely, ‘God, I’m sorry, Chief. That was unforgivable.’

From the control room Buck’s voice broke the sudden silence between them. ‘Dinghy in sight! Just saw the signal!’

Gerrard blundered between them, his feet carrying him automatically to his station for surfacing the boat.

Frenzel thrust out one arm and prevented Devereaux from following. ‘D’you know, I’ve always thought you were a deep one. But I never imagined you were such a bastard.’

Devereaux faced him, his mouth clamped in a small smile. ‘I suppose
you
know what you’re talking about.’

‘So do you.’ He dropped his arm. ‘You want to break him, don’t you? Just so that you can beat your little drum in the right quarters.’

He followed him towards the control room. If Buck had not broken the tension he would have said or done something which might have smashed their world forever.

He saw Gerrard slinging his glasses round his neck as he watched the lower hatch being opened. Devereaux had taken over as first lieutenant, and was apparently engrossed in studying the gauges above Starkie’s head.

‘Blow all main ballast!’

Frenzel threw down his switches and half listened to the air roaring into the saddle tanks.

Marshall was coming back. And not a moment too soon.

‘
IF YOU’LL WAIT
in here, sir.’ The orderly held open a door and waited for Marshall to enter the spacious room. ‘The captain will see you in just a moment.’

Marshall walked slowly to the one wide window which overlooked the harbour. Outside it was blazing hot, the glare throwing up shimmering reflections from the many anchored ships and broad expanse of blue water. Alexandria. He smiled wryly. ‘Alex’. But for the dazzle-paint on some of the ships, the neat lines of small buoys and floats which marked the underwater booms and nets, it could have been peacetime. There were awnings spread on most of the vessels, and he saw a marine band marching and counter-marching on the quarterdeck of a massive battleship. The bandmaster must be a real tyrant to keep them at it, he thought.

He turned and looked at the room. Its fine mosaic floor and domed ceiling gave it an air of calm, and after the passage from the depot ship where U-192 had secured just an hour earlier it felt as cool as a tomb. There was a solitary, marble-topped table, bare but for an old copy of the
Tatler
and a dog-eared card which explained ‘what to do in an air raid’. Someone else who had waited here had scrawled, ‘Take cover in a bottle of gin’ underneath it.

Although the building was now classified as part of the naval command set-up, there was little else to show a change
of
ownership. It had once belonged to an Egyptian government official, but it was said that it was used more often than not by the King to entertain some of his friends. Marshall studied the huge murals which decorated the walls. Voluptuous dancing girls in every imaginable stance. Even the table legs were carved like nude women.

He turned away, recalling with sickening clarity the girl strapped to the table. A week ago. It could have been yesterday. He remembered her twisting in his arms, fighting him without strength or purpose, not knowing if she was conscious or even alive.

When they had sighted the surfacing submarine and Cain had stood upright in the dinghy to wave his arms like a madman, she had not given any hint of understanding.

Once on board, with the boat submerged and heading out again into open waters, he had made sure she was comfortable in his cabin.

Major Cowan had protested, ‘But I’m trying to interrogate Travis in there!’

Marshall had snapped, ‘Do it somewhere else. Stick him in a torpedo tube, for all I care!’

For by then, within minutes of resuming command, he had discovered something else about Travis. He had not come willingly to help his own country. There had been a small attempt at sabotage at the site where he was employed, and quite unbeknown to him the wheels had started to turn. The Italians had panicked and informed the German Military Intelligence, who had immediately telephoned Gestapo headquarters. Most of the labour working on the site was recruited locally, or consisted of heavily guarded wretches from a concentration camp in the north. The Gestapo had begun to check more individual records, and Travis’s had been one of them. Their Paris office had sent
details
of Travis’s wife, of their suspicions about her connections with the Resistance.

The girl’s unexpected arrival had sprung the odds against Travis, and with moments to spare he had been smuggled through a tightening cordon. As the small party had moved through the countryside, resting briefly in ‘safe’ houses, or sleeping rough in fields, Travis had probably seen his wife as the main cause of his own destruction. But for her he would still have been working safely for the Germans. It was a well paid appointment with more to come. He had travelled widely before the war, and knew that in the unlikely event of the Germans losing the last battle, he would be well placed to disappear into a neutral country, to bide his time until the moment was ripe for his return. They always needed good engineers, especially after a war. And he was very good at his work.

Over and over again Marshall had tried to imagine the sort of man who would knowingly let his wife, no matter what had changed between them, go straight into the hands of the Gestapo. Just to give him time to get away. To allow men like Cowan and Simeon an opportunity to discover the full extent of the enemy’s strategy.

Having no doctor on board, Marshall had done all he could to make her feel safe, even if he could not share her inner reactions. Churchill had proved to be a tower of strength. Waiting on her. Seeing she was left undisturbed. Guarding her like a watchdog.

Day after day, hour after hour, while the boat had felt her way clear of enemy-patrolled waters, Marshall had waited for a sign. But she kept in the cabin, with just a small light above the bunk for company.

The S.A.S. lieutenant had said, ‘Let her be, Captain. It’ll take time. And a whole lot more.’

They had surfaced to send their private signal, and just as quickly the reply had come back to them. Destination—Alexandria. Maximum security as before.

Only that morning they had surfaced at the exact time arranged, to be met and escorted into harbour by a motor gunboat of the Special Boat Squadron. With her false screen rigged once more, the U-boat had been led to a moored depot ship, and within minutes, or so it had seemed, had been additionally camouflaged with canvas dodgers, painting stages, and anything else which might avoid interest. Not that there was much likelihood of that. The harbour had plenty of evidence of repair work and hasty overhauls. One more veteran would excite little attention.

He recalled the first time she had actually spoken to him. He had been standing just inside the cabin, watching as Churchill had held a cup of soup to her lips. How small she had looked. Lost in a submarine sweater and somebody’s best bell-bottom trousers.

She had suddenly pushed the cup away and had said huskily, ‘Where
were
you?’ Her eyes had filled with terror, like those of a trapped animal. ‘You didn’t come!’ Then she had fallen back on the pillows.

Churchill had said, ‘She ain’t makin’ sense yet, sir.’ He had been genuinely worried. ‘But we don’t give up where I come from.’

Marshall thought too of her body as it had looked when she had been brought aboard. The angry marks on her skin, the blood around her mouth. He had never known such unreasoning fury as at those moments. If he could have got his hands on Travis he would have killed him.

Once alongside the depot ship things had moved swiftly. Grim-faced officers had come for Travis and the three agents. Medical staff had looked after the girl and the
wounded
agent, Moss. The Italian, who had apparently enjoyed the passage to Alexandria immensely, had walked up the brow without assistance, waving to the watching sailors like visiting royalty.

Smith had been the last to leave. In the searing sunlight, in his filthy boots and leather coat, he had looked for all the world like another Peter Lorre.

‘I wish you well, Captain.’ He had held out his hand. ‘You are a brave man.’ He had tapped his heart gravely. ‘But too much of this, I think.’

The door opened silently. ‘The captain will see you now, sir.’

Marshall followed him into a deserted corridor. In his white shirt and shorts he felt out of place. Flowing robes, the scent of strong coffee and young girls would have been more suitable.

It was a similar room to the one he had just left, except that it was crammed with cabinets, telephones and littered tables. Even the dancing girls were hidden by maps and charts which hung from every wall.

Captain Browning was silhouetted against the window, his head shining like a chestnut in the reflected glare.

He turned and said, ‘By God, Marshall, you never fail to astound me.’ He gripped his hand and shook it slowly. ‘You look well, despite what you’ve been doing.’

Marshall placed his cap on a table and sat down. Browning’s grip had changed. It was almost shaky. Like someone with fever.

‘I’ll say no more.’ Browning settled himself in a chair. ‘Danger seems to agree with you.’

He did not offer him a drink. Nor did there appear to be any in the room.

‘Commander Simeon will want to speak with you
shortly
.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘He’s with our Intelligence chaps. Checking what Cowan has discovered from Travis. I’ve read your report too, of course. About the destroyer being sunk by a guided bomb.’ He shook his massive head. ‘Terrible. All getting beyond me.’

‘Which ship was she, sir?’ He saw her again. Charging in with her consort for the kill. His own command.

‘The
Dundee
.’ Browning turned as if to look out of the window, the swivel chair creaking under his weight. ‘My son was midshipman in her.’

Marshall stared at him. All the time. It never stopped. While they had been at sea, as Smith had directed their efforts into one savage attack on the police post, others had suffered.

‘I’m very sorry, sir. Were there any survivors?’

Browning took a deep breath. ‘A few. He wasn’t one of them, I’m afraid.’ He looked at Marshall, but his eyes seemed to go right through him. ‘I’ll miss that lad, you know.’

He cleared his throat noisily and turned over several sheets of paper on his desk.

Then he said, ‘I’m afraid there’ll be no leave for your people. I’ve told the depot ship to make ’em as comfortable as possible. Baths, a few film shows, that sort of thing.’ He looked at Marshall again. ‘I’m sorry I can’t do more. Security.’ He lingered over the word, as if he was examining it for himself.

‘I was wondering about the girl, sir.’ Marshall watched for some reaction. ‘What will become of her now?’

‘Back to the U.K., I imagine. Her department will deal with it. Brave girl. I’d like to have met her.’ Something of a smile puckered his mouth. ‘By God, that was fine thing you did. Some people take a different view.’ He shrugged.
‘Still
, can’t have it both ways. Either this is the real Navy or it’s a special section. I’m beginning to wonder what the hell we
are
doing some of the time.’

The door opened slightly. ‘Commander Simeon is here, sir.’

Browning nodded. Then he said urgently, ‘Leave this to me.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘I may be old, but I’ve a few cards of my own!’

Simeon strode into the room and threw his cap on to a chair. He was dressed in perfect white drill which showed up the flush on his face as he snapped, ‘I heard you were here! God damn it, Marshall, I’ve just about had all I can take from you!’

Browning said, ‘Sit down. I’m not having a row in my room!’

Simeon sat down and adjusted the crease in his trouser leg before continuing in a calmer tone, ‘When I heard what you did, how you jeopardised the mission, the submarine,
everything
, for your own amusement, I could hardly credit it.’

Marshall replied, ‘You told me the decision on the spot was mine alone. The submarine stayed to the precise moment arranged. As laid down in your instructions.’ He studied him calmly. ‘Sir.’

‘I didn’t tell you to go off like a madman on your own!’ Simeon’s face was getting more flushed. ‘Mrs. Travis had her job to do. We all have.’

Marshall realised he was on his feet, the others watching him with mixed expressions.

He said, ‘She was being tortured. Not sitting behind a desk. She and the major, Carter, or whatever his real name was, went inland alone, knowing they would be caught. Inviting it, just to save that gutless traitor you’ve been talking to.’ He swung round, his eyes cold. ‘Your people
sent
her into that mess without even knowing what might go wrong. You didn’t even care, did you?’

Simeon replied angrily, ‘Suppose they’d caught
you
? They’d have got it out of you, too. What you were doing. About the U-boat, anything they wanted.’

Marshall smiled gently. It was Simeon’s one weak spot. Criticism, a hint that any part of his planning might be at fault.