Go In and Sink! (40 page)

‘Why must it be you?’ The resistance broke with her question and she threw herself down and wrapped her arms around his legs. ‘Why
you
? You have done enough. Let someone else take over. I can’t bear to see what it’s doing to you!’

He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling tears on his legs.

‘I must do it, my darling. You, of all people, must know what that means, I have to.’

She looked at him, her eyes filled with despair and hurt.

‘Yes, Steven. I do. That only makes it worse.’

He tried to grin. ‘I’ve got three days. They want me out from under their feet.’

She brushed her eyes with the back of her wrist.

‘Three days. Why do the British always think three days is just the right amount?’ She was attempting to follow his lead and smiled up at him, the tears still running down her cheeks. Then she said, ‘You must be dead tired. I will let you eat in peace.’

‘The wine, please.’ He put his arm round her waist and felt her tense.

She whispered, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’

He held her hands and replied, ‘There is nothing to be sorry about.’ He raised the wine to the light and added, ‘Hock. With the compliments of the Afrika Korps, no doubt.’

They drank in silence, each watching the other, until Marshall said suddenly, ‘When I get back.…’ It was there again. In the open. Between them like a crevasse.

She nodded, biting her lower lip. ‘You will, Steven. I know it. You must.’

He smiled. ‘
When
I get back. Will you please marry me?’

She stared at him for several moments. As if she had misheard.

He said, ‘You must know how I feel.’ He half rose and added, ‘Think about it, will you?’

She stood up and reached for the bottle. ‘More wine, eh?’

She tossed her head, throwing the hair from her eyes. But her hand did not touch it. She turned and looked at him, her eyes filling her face.

‘You do not have to ask, Steven.’ She stooped over him and touched his hair. ‘If
you
are sure. I am so worried that.…’

The rest was lost as he pulled her against him. I was all he wanted. To hear her answer. To know she felt as he did, no matter what else came between them. It made all his past attitudes seem stupid and empty. He wanted her. It was physical pain even to think of losing her now.

She said, ‘Three days.’

‘Yes. We can get away from here. I’ll take you to see places where they’ve never heard of the war.’

She shook her head. ‘Can we stay here?’

He held her away and looked at her anxiously. ‘Of course. If that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

A houseboy shuffled past the open door, making a big show of checking locks and windows.

She said, ‘He is waiting for us to go.’

He nodded. ‘Tomorrow.…’

She touched his lips with her fingers. ‘Do not talk about it now.’

They walked up the stairs and she left him by his door.

She said, ‘I am glad I waited up for you. Perhaps you
would
have changed your mind otherwise?’ She moved away before he could answer.

Later, as he lay in bed, half listening to a breeze against the shutters, he let his mind stray again to what lay ahead. He had to clench his fists to steady himself as the fresh realisation came to him. Now that he had so much to lose he must watch himself every foot of the way. An error of judgement, an unguarded moment, and he might destroy all of them. Like Bill had done as he had entered the minefield with Gail uppermost in his thoughts.

He stiffened, hearing the door open and close very softly. Knowing it was the girl. She stood motionless beside the bed, her figure a pale ghost against the darkness.

As he made to move she said quickly, ‘Please. I had to come. I could not wait for you again, without knowing.’ She sounded as if she was shaking. ‘But do not touch me, my darling. Please try to understand.’

He lay on his side, hardly daring to breathe as she slipped into the bed. He could smell her hair, her body, her desperate uncertainty, and wanted more than anything to help her.

How long they lay together he did not know. He listened to her breathing until it became steadier, knew she was watching him even though it was too dark to see.

She reached out impulsively and took his hand. ‘Steven.’ She pulled it slowly and laid on it her breast. ‘Steven.’ She kept repeating his name, as if to reassure herself. To find some inner strength.

He felt her breast in his hand, the fierce heartbeats, the dampness of her skin.

She lifted his hand away and kissed it. Then she said, ‘Love me, Steven. Do not care what I say.
Love me
. I must be yours!’

Very gently he knelt beside her, feeling her muscles tighten as he moved above her, knowing she was fighting everything she had suffered and still harboured in her mind like a scar. He saw her head moving from side to side on the pillow, felt her legs forcing against him, while one hand gripped his shoulder, digging into it until he knew the skin had broken.

For one moment longer he hesitated, his concern and pity matched only by his want of her.

As he came down so did her resistance break, not immediately, but in parts, until only her body remained unyielding beneath him. Then her arms came up and around his neck and shoulders, and he felt her mouth seeking his as she gasped, ‘
Now!
’

It was like falling a great distance. Down and down, with her body angling to receive him, her skin embracing his until their passions were finally equalled.

When they lay quiet again she whispered, ‘Do not move away. Stay. Let me hold you like this.’

He kissed her shoulder, knowing he already wanted her again. And again.

She added quietly, ‘This is our tomorrow, my darling.’

He reached down and touched her breast, ‘And it will last for us.’

She stirred beneath him, the nightmare gone.

THE DEPOT SHIP’S
operations room seemed unusually quiet and deserted despite the groups of officers who stood or sat around the central chart table. The deadlights were shut across the scuttles, although it was still early evening, and the deckhead lights played down on the assembled men, on the discarded typewriters and signal cabinets which were normally buzzing with activity. Beside a bulkhead door a solitary petty officer sat at a desk wearing a pair of headphones. By this method he could retain contact with the main communications section on the other side of the bulkhead yet be isolated from the meeting about to begin.

Marshall followed the little admiral to the top of the table and nodded to his own officers and the marines who would be carried with them to the scene of the raid.

There were others, too. The Senior Operations Officer, Intelligence experts, the Chief of Staff and, he was surprised to see, the minute S.A.S. lieutenant called Smith. The one who was like Peter Lorre.

Dundas stood looking down at the large scale chart of the objective, and then said, ‘Smoke, if you like. You might be too busy later on.’

Marshall watched his own officers’ reactions. Young Warwick grinned at Dundas’s wry remark. Buck was masklike as usual. Frenzel was frowning, adjusting his
own
department to the broad layout of their mission. Gerrard glanced across the table towards him, his eyes very dark. Anxious, resigned, it was all there. Devereaux too looked as if he had found little rest during the four days in harbour.

Dundas said crisply, ‘You have been given details of the mission. To enter the new port of Nestore and destroy the enemy’s bombing capability. Until this morning, most of you only knew it was to be another job for you.
Until
this morning, I was not sure we could go ahead. But now we have the C. in C.’s blessing.’ He smiled briefly. ‘This is the big one. The grand slam. Captain Lambert is in charge of a detachment of thirty marines and their equipment. Including their canoes,’ he shot the captain a quick smile, ‘or cockles as I understand they are known. Lieutenant, er, Smith will be on demolition and general adviser on local matters of defence and recognition.’

Several of the officers were writing busily in their notebooks, and Frenzel nodded understandingly as Dundas added, ‘The submarine’s fuel and fresh water intake will be reduced to a minimum to help compensate for the extra load.’

The Chief of Staff coughed politely and the admiral snapped, ‘Yes, Charles?’

‘A point on entering the harbour, sir.’

The admiral waved him down impatiently. ‘I have had it inserted in my orders. Commander Marshall’s decision
on the spot
will be final. We have compiled a new intelligence pack on net defences and local patrols. But apart from that, we know very little.’ He looked sternly at Marshall. ‘You want to add anything?’

Marshall said, ‘I’m very sorry to harp about security, sir, but.…’

‘Quite right, my boy.’ Dundas sighed. ‘We are doing all we can. The C. in C. has been in close contact, as have American Intelligence. We have tried to keep it as close a secret as possible. Later, if the signs are right, I will inform F.O.I.C. Gilbraltar to prepare a covering force, or invent some suitable diversion. However,—’ the word hung in the air, ‘it will be mainly up to you.’

Marshall smiled gravely. Before the conference he had thanked the admiral for giving him the right of a final decision
on the spot
, as he had just put it. Dundas had replied. ‘You may have little cause to thank me later on. It is often safer to be under direct orders, right or wrong.’

Dundas continued, ‘My staff will be with you until you slip from the depot ship in,’ he consulted his watch, ‘approximately eight hours. You will embark the marines as soon as it is dark and get them settled in.’ He looked at Frenzel. ‘You want something?’

‘The damaged screw, sir. Can’t something be done to rectify it?’

‘No time. My engineering expert and the base engineer have both said it would take too long. A dockyard job.’ He smiled thinly. ‘As you are now totally committed, I can tell you. The Allied forces will invade Sicily one month from tomorrow. I can tell you this because if you fail to delay or destroy the enemy’s immediate supply of radio bombs there may be no invasion … period.’

Marshall heard some of them gasp with surprise, saw the two marine lieutenants exchanging glances and grinning. As if they had just been offered a year’s back-pay instead of this vague, possibly suicidal, mission.

He pushed the thought of failure from his mind. Remembering the girl’s face when he had left her. Despite all that might be waiting in the next few days they had
both
felt strangely calm. Detached from all reality by their own special world.

As the Operation Officer’s voice droned on about enemy shipping and coastal defences he let his mind move back again. The days and nights, all linked together dominated by their want of each other.

Nothing else had been important. Dundas had been right about that, too. He had returned feeling totally different, and no matter how the first pressures of action touched him, he knew he had Chantal to hold on to.

He realised the voice had stopped and that Dundas was closing his brief-case.

The admiral said suddenly, ‘I should add that Commander Simeon will be accompanying this mission, to to take overall control of land operations.’

The others looked towards Marshall, but he was able to remain impassive. He already knew about this additional pressure, just as he knew why Simeon was absent from the briefing.

Marshall had been unpacking his grip in a borrowed cabin aboard the depot ship when Simeon had strode into the doorway, his face cold with anger. He had slammed the door and had said, ‘So you got your own way, eh? Total control of the raid. The admiral’s bright boy at last?’

Marshall had stayed silent, watching the man’s anger, only half hearing his flood of words. He had been standing beside an open scuttle, so that Simeon had been unable to see him against the bright sunlight.

Simeon had been saying, ‘Well I’ve had your number for some time. I knew what you’d been up to with my wife.…’

Marshall had interrupted at that point. ‘Before you knew her.’

‘Don’t interrupt!’ His face had been pink with rage. ‘And now you’ve very conveniently stepped into Travis’s shoes, and no doubt his bed as well!’

Marshall had felt completely calm, gratified perhaps that not even Simeon’s words could hurt him. As the sunlight had touched his shoulders he had seen Simeon’s eyes widen even further, and he had said quietly, ‘Sorry, I forgot to mention my promotion. It hadn’t bothered me much one way or the other. Until now.’

Simeon had stared at him. ‘I’ll
bet
! If I know you, you’ve been.…’

Marshall had stepped across the cabin and had said gently, ‘But now,
old chap
, I can’t be accused of striking a superior officer!’

The pain had lanced up his arm, and he had seen Simeon sprawled on the bunk, blood running down his chin and over his impeccable white shirt in a steady trickle.

He had lurched to his feet, his face shocked and twisted with pain. All he had been able to say was, ‘You hit me!
Me!
’ Then he had gone, his blood leaving a small pattern along the carpet.

When the admiral had told him about Simeon’s part in the raid he had felt like protesting. But Dundas had added. ‘If anything happens to you, who would take over? Your Number One? One of the others?’ He had given a quick shake of the head. ‘Simeon’s been a good man in this sort of work. In the past. Once ashore, he should be able to push the raid through to a successful conclusion. But he knows you will carry the maximum authority. There’s far more at stake here than personal likes and dislikes.’

It was dusk by the time the briefing finally broke up. Marshall walked to the upper deck with Gerrard and
Frenzel
, and stood for some minutes looking down at his command alongside. The marine commandos were already being mustered, their weapons and packs passed through the fore hatch by a chain of seamen.

He said, ‘The cockles will take up a lot of space, Bob. Tell Buck to stow half of them in those pressure-tight compartments aft. They’ve been empty since he removed the spare fish.’