Torpedo Run (1981) Page 15

  He asked, ‘When does this inquiry begin?’

  Beresford sounded vague. ‘They’ve had some sort of preliminary hearing. It will take a few more days, I think. We shall be the last to know, as per usual.’

  Devane watched as he made two pink gins, large ones even by naval standards, and remembered Beresford’s explanation about Sorokin’s ruse to stop the enemy’s search for the E-boat. He had been matter of fact, as only he could.

  ‘You’d had a rough time, old son. Didn’t want to deluge you with gloom. Barker was enough for one day, I thought.’

  They had left it at that. For the moment.

  Beresford sank down in a chair and plucked his shirt from his chest.

  ‘Cheers!’

  Devane moved his body gingerly against the chair. The scar was healing well, but hurt like hell whenever he forgot to guard it against sudden contact. He had seen it in a mirror. It was livid and star-shaped like the steel splinter.

  He wondered what the little nurse was doing. Probably tending more wounded troops. That small, silent room was likely crammed with sick and injured men now. They were strange people, almost impossible to know except for short, uncertain contacts. Like those he had had with Orel and the girl called Ludmilla. Perhaps even Orel spoke fluent English and listened to the background chatter of his British allies whenever he could. What were they suspicious of?

  Beresford said, ‘Richie’s widow is being flown in today. She’s got a room at the hotel. That’s what they call it.’

  Devane watched him, looking for a sign. But if Beresford had suggested his coming for some deeper motive he did not show it.

  Up to this moment Devane had expected, even hoped, that she would not come. She might not want to. And with a war raging round the world it was more than likely the air transport might be withdrawn, or cancelled altogether.

  He was deluding himself, clinging to the impossible dream. As usual. She was more than capable of handling these people. Often in the past he had seen her turn a man aside with the deftness of a skilled swordsman.

  Beresford closed his eyes and tilted his head to swallow some more iced gin.

  ‘Remember Korvettenkapitän Lincke?’

  Devane stared at him, caught out by the sudden change of tack.

  ‘Lincke. Of course. Why, has he been killed at long last?’

  It was strange how a man’s name could become as strong as the man, or a memory. Korvettenkapitän Lincke had first proved his ability in the Channel when in command of an E-boat. As soon as the dust of Dunkirk had settled, his name had begun to appear in intelligence packs, sometimes with blurred newspaper photographs pinned inside for recognition purposes. Shaking hands with Grand Admiral Raeder, or receiving an Iron Cross from Hitler himself, Lincke had lived a charmed life. A survivor like himself in many ways. It would be hardly surprising if his luck had finally run out.

  Inevitably, their paths had crossed, and Devane had wondered if his enemy had known about him also. In the Mediterranean Lincke had popped up, in command of an Italian naval unit in the Adriatic. For, if the Germans’ allies possessed some of the finest torpedo boats in the world, they had for the most part lacked the leadership to make the best use of them.

  Submarines had their ‘aces’, and in the world of fast motor torpedo boats and gunboats Lincke was high in the same quality.

  Beresford did not open his eyes. ‘Far from it. There were some dispatches waiting for me. Intelligence seem pretty sure Lincke’s in the Black Sea.’

  Devane said uneasily, ‘Barker had better watch his step.’

  But the joke fell flat. Lincke in the Black Sea. It was very possible. Especially if the German High Command had got wind of Parthian and its true purpose.

  He added, ‘It’s too much of a coincidence. Lincke’s arrival and Barker’s proposed operation.’

  Beresford looked at him. ‘I agree. It’s getting a bit personal. I also discovered that Vice-Admiral Talents, my overall boss, was at Dartmouth with Eustace Barker. I can smell the workings of the Old Pals’ Act.’

  Devane laughed. ‘I’m glad I’m a simple soul.’

  ‘You?’ Beresford leant forward with the bottle. ‘That’ll be the bloody day!’

  He stood up. ‘I’m going to try and bribe my way into a shower somewhere. Failing that, a good woman.’ He touched Devane’s arm as he passed. ‘Get your head down while you can. We assemble at 0900 tomorrow.’

  Devane nodded, his mind dulled by the gin. Beresford’s disclosure about Lincke did not fool him for a moment. Whether or not Barker’s mysterious plans had anything to do with the German E-boat commander did not really count.

  He must face it. Lincke was in the Black Sea for one purpose above all others.

  Devane said it aloud without realizing it. ‘He’s going to get me, if he can.’

  But Beresford had already left.

  Devane poured another gin very carefully. He should feel flattered. If it had to happen, they had chosen the best one to do it.

  He got to his feet, the gin untouched. Maybe that was why Beresford had let it out so casually. To give him a chance to stand down. To plead unfitness due to strain and the stress of constant action. Nobody would be able to deny him a relief, no matter what some might secretly say or think.

  Devane pushed aside the shutters and allowed the sun to scorch his face and arms like a furnace.

  If they thought that about him, they would have to think again.

  For he was not like the others. He had nothing to lose.

  When Devane, accompanied by Beresford, arrived at the shabby building where the inquiry was being conducted, he was astonished to see the familiar figure of Captain Whitcombe also present.

  Devane exclaimed, ‘You didn’t say he would be here?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I?’ Beresford showed his pass to a sentry. ‘It’s all this secrecy, I expect. I never say anything nowadays, just to be safe!’

  Devane strode into the shade and saluted. Beresford’s explanation sounded as unconvincing as some of his others. Nevertheless, he was glad to see Whitcombe in some strange way. Although God knows why they had brought him from Special Operations for an inquiry which could have been completed in Whitehall.

  Whitcombe beamed at him. ‘You look well, John, damn well. Considering. How is it, by the way?’

  Devane answered, ‘Doesn’t hurt much now. I was wondering –’

  ‘Later.’ Whitcombe took him aside as more officers arrived panting from the heat.

  ‘I’m sorry about all this, for Richie’s sake, and for his widow’s, of course. But my coming out here will help us to complete our plans for the Black Sea strategy without attracting too much attention. Mrs Richie has the right, after the hearing, to claim the body. It’s in the military hospital.’

  Devane looked away. Until now he had imagined Richie was buried, probably at sea, like the men who had died after the capture of the E-boat. As he would have been if the star-shaped splinter had not been half spent.

  What might it do to her when she was told? To know that Richie was lying in some iced vault while she had made love in a Chelsea hotel.

  Whitcombe was watching him worriedly. ‘Beresford’s told you about Korvettenkapitän Lincke. My guess is that he was being sent anyway, as soon as the Germans picked up the news that Richie was on his way. You or Richie would affect Lincke in the same fashion.’

  ‘I know.’ He glanced at the clock above a military policeman’s head. ‘But before we go in, sir, is this inquiry really necessary, even to cover up our future operations? Richie was wrong to shoot himself, but it happens. Brave men should never crack under the strain, but they do.’ He waved his hand towards the white and khaki uniforms. ‘This is a farce.’

  Whitcombe nodded to a messenger and headed for a side door. ‘Cowardice doesn’t come into it. Lieutenant-Commander Richie was already being investigated, and he knew it. He’s well out of it by now, but we have to go through the motions.’ He looked him directly in the eyes. ‘So t
hat we are not branded with the same mark as the Nazis!’

  Devane turned to speak with Beresford, but he too had disappeared.

  What the hell was Whitcombe talking about? He made no sense at all.

  He saw a car stop outside the building to be surrounded immediately by a crowd of babbling onlookers and beggars. The car carried a Swedish flag, and two men left it immediately. Their pale skins and neat briefcases put them miles apart from the sweating military policemen at the entrance.

  ‘Take your places, gentlemen.’

  The doors opened and Devane followed the others into the adjoining room. It could have been anywhere, but for the outdated fans and a native servant who was putting out ashtrays on a long trestle table.

  The court consisted of an elderly commander, two lieutenant-commanders and a bespectacled lawyer from the Judge Advocate’s department. At another table sat Whitcombe and Barker, the latter shining in a suit of white drill.

  The two Swedish visitors were seated at yet another table, and were watching the members of the court settling down, arranging papers and clearing their throats.

  Devane sat with his arms folded. He should not have come. Perhaps if he just got up and left nobody would notice.

  The commander at the trestle table put on a pair of glasses but looked over the top of them as he surveyed the room at large.

  ‘Governed by the same rules of secrecy as before, this court of inquiry is reopened.’ He nodded to the two Swedes and added, ‘And may I offer my thanks and greetings to our, er, guests.’

  Devane looked quickly over his shoulder but there was no sign of Claudia Richie.

  The commander said briskly, ‘Before we get down to the matter concerned in this inquiry, I have something to announce of great importance.’

  He had everyone’s attention now.

  ‘This very morning, the Allied forces made several successful landings on the island of Sicily. Enemy resistance was overcome and all first objectives taken.’ He looked at their faces and added dryly, ‘The Royal Marines were, I’m told, the first to land yet again!’

  If they could have cheered, Devane knew they would have done so. All the waiting, the setbacks and stunning losses in four years of war. This was the first step on the long way to victory.

  Devane saw the commander glance quickly at the Swedes and wondered if the Sicily announcement could affect them in any way. Something to soften the pill, but for what?’

  The commander continued, ‘The evidence in the case of Lieutenant-Commander Donald Jason Richie, Distinguished Service Cross and Bar, twice Mentioned in Despatches, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, is as follows, the facts having been verified by the sources contained in my report, and which out of necessity must remain a matter of secrecy.’

  Devane could feel the tension around him, also the resentment against the two foreign visitors whose country remained neutral. It was a stupid resentment, but a natural one. Their presence was like an intrusion.

  The commander must have sensed this. He continued, ‘Our distinguished guests, Mr Winter and Mr Revelius of the Swedish committee for the investigation of welfare into the conditions of prisoners of war and enemy occupied territories, have played no small part in this investigation.’

  Devane felt the resentment draining away like sand in a glass.

  ‘On the date stated in the final report, Lieutenant-Commander Richie was employed on a special operation on the Norwegian coast. He was in temporary command of a motor gunboat as it was considered more suitable for the operation than one of his own flotilla’s MTBs.’ He peered over his glasses. ‘Members of the court will have noted that the motor gunboat was subsequently lost with all hands whilst attacking an enemy convoy off Ostend.’

  That was why Dundas and some of the others who had served with Richie knew nothing about it, Devane thought.

  The commander said, ‘The operation was not completed but, whilst ashore with three of his men, Richie surprised a squad of six German soldiers and three civilians. Lieutenant-Commander Richie was well used to that kind of mission and managed to take all the Germans prisoner, one of his own men having been killed in the brief exchange of fire. It later transpired that the three civilians were Norwegians who were being taken into custody for interrogation.’ He glanced severely around the room. ‘Richie disarmed his prisoners but apparently made no effort to question either the German soldiers or the three civilians. Having ordered his two remaining men to carry their dead companion back to the landing place, he shot all nine men with a machine-pistol.’

  Devane sat bolt upright as the quiet words plummeted into the room like grenades.

  The voice continued, ‘One of the Norwegians, who was in fact a member of the Resistance, managed to crawl away, and eventually crossed into Sweden for safety. From him, and as a result of more recent investigations, the facts have become fully documented.’

  Devane saw Whitcombe staring across the room at him, his face like stone. Only Barker appeared calm and relaxed, like a man who has heard nothing about some terrible tragedy happening within feet of him.

  The commander said, ‘This is not the story of a brave man who has given so much for his country, one whose reflexes have been sharpened and honed to a point of military excellence. Nor is it something which because of his fine record should be swept aside and ignored. To do so is to condone the very things we have been fighting against for so long.’

  Devane heard the murmur of voices flowing around him until it was silenced by a sharp rap on the table.

  He could see it all. The unexpected confrontation, the Germans caught off guard in what they probably considered a safe area. The Norwegians no doubt expected to be rescued, instead of facing the horrors of torture at the local Gestapo HQ.

  Perhaps Richie had already passed the danger point, and the sight of an enemy, flesh and blood at close quarters, had been too much for him. But to disarm them, to gun them down like beasts, had been premeditated and not the deed of the moment. It was ironic that the men who might have been prepared to vouch for him were as dead as the Germans.

  The commander folded a page on his file and signed it with a flourish.

  ‘These are the facts and so shall they be recorded.’

  He rose and replaced his cap. ‘The court is dismissed.’

  Devane stood up, his mind grappling with what he had heard. Richie’s name was ruined. He must have known that Barker was on his way to Tuapse and once there would complete the investigation which would destroy him in the eyes of his command, Parthian. And that, he had been unable to bear.

  Beresford was waiting for him, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

  Devane asked harshly, ‘You knew that too, I suppose?’

  ‘Not all of it. Some I guessed. When I heard the Swedes were involved I knew it could not be kept secret.’

  ‘Could not or should not?’

  Beresford sounded surprised. ‘For six Krauts and a couple of terrorists? God, I’ve shot more men in an afternoon, and so have you probably!’

  ‘There’s a difference!’

  Beresford touched his cap in a casual salute. ‘You could have fooled me.’

  Military personnel were already putting up a larger table, carrying in more documents and resetting the scene for another service drama.

  What was it, he wondered? A court martial? Someone’s fingers in the mess funds, or a man drunk on duty?

  He saw the servant laying out clean ashtrays even though the others were still unused.

  Captain Whitcombe joined him and grunted, ‘Let’s have a noggin. I need it after that.’

  Barker walked lightly towards them. ‘Went pretty well, I thought. No loose ends.’ He shook his head gravely. ‘Some of these fellows, I really don’t know. Want to play God, it seems to me, eh?’ He nodded to Devane. ‘I’ll talk with you later.’ He nodded again. ‘No loose ends. That’s what I like to see.’

  Devane murmured quietly, ‘Bastard!’

  Whitcombe said uneasily, ‘
I didn’t hear that. Oh, damn!’ He turned as a lieutenant hurried towards him with something to sign. ‘Won’t keep you.’

  But Devane was looking across to the other end of the corridor. With servicemen in all kinds and shades of uniform hurrying past her she stood out like a bright picture.

  She was dressed all in white, so that her dark hair and eyes seemed to accentuate her poise, her defiance.

  He saw the lieutenant leave Whitcombe and push through towards her, a book held out as if for an autograph.

  Whitcombe explained heavily, ‘That’s the release permit for her husband’s body.’

  But Devane did not hear, he was already thrusting past the others, remembering that other time in the taxi when her defences had begun to crumble.

  He said, ‘Hello. It’s me.’

  She swung towards him, her eyes and mouth, even her body tensed as if to ward off an attack.

  Devane took her arm and turned her to the wall, shutting out the busy people and the door of the courtroom.

  She said, ‘You did make me jump. I had no idea. In fact, I was just thinking. . . .’

  He squeezed her arm gently. ‘Easy. You don’t have to pretend with me. Just let me be with you.’ When she neither looked at him nor spoke he added urgently, ‘Please, Claudia, I’m not saying that to deceive or impress you. I – I thought, when I saw you in this terrible place. . . .’ His voice faltered as she faced him directly.

  ‘I hoped we might meet again one day.’ She trembled as if it were freezing cold. ‘Not like this.’

  He watched her struggling to retain control. It was like a physical act, as if her mind and body were being possessed.

  Then she said, ‘If you could help. . . .’

  Devane guided her towards the door. ‘Let’s get away from here.’

  She said, ‘Everyone kept apologizing, as if they were genuinely sorry. Don can’t be buried at sea with naval honours because of all this. Not the “done thing” apparently.’ Her chin lifted with sudden anger. ‘He really messed it up for himself this time! And I thought it was because I said I was having an affair!’