A Dawn Like Thunder (37 page)

‘I want our Operations on full stand-by from now on. I've arranged with the Base to monitor all incoming signals which may have even the smallest connection with what we're doing. Can't be too careful.' He frowned as one of the overhead fans gave a warning squeak. It was going to be another scorching day. If the fans broke down . . .

Second Officer Blandford said without looking up, ‘I've had a word with the O.O.D., sir. Someone will be sent to check the fans as soon as possible.'

‘Hmmm.' He looked at her. So neat, so self-assured. And yet . . . He walked to his desk and picked up a cup of fresh coffee. After Operation
Trident
, what then? Maybe they would close this place down, and move the section elsewhere. Australia, perhaps. It would be like the backwoods after here, and London.

She asked, ‘Anything else, sir?'

‘No. Commander Crookshank will be dropping in during the forenoon.' Worried and anxious, no doubt, in case he was left holding the baby. He snapped, ‘Enter!'

The door opened and he saw Victoria Mackenzie in petty officer's uniform; composed, as if nothing had changed.

She said, ‘Major Guest to see you, sir.'

Pryce said, ‘Not a chance! God, does that man think we've nothing else to do around here?'

Second Officer Blandford uncrossed her legs. ‘He was trying to get hold of you before.' She added softly, ‘I did tell you, sir.'

‘Did you? Oh yes – I was pretty busy.' He squared his shoulders. ‘I still am!'

Victoria Mackenzie looked past him at the big map. It had always been part of the job, but not close and personal, as it was now.
He
was out there somewhere. How did he feel? What must it be like?

She heard herself say, ‘Major Guest has seen the Chief-of-Staff, sir.'

Pryce sat down. ‘Crafty bugger!' He looked at the office clock. One signal, then nothing more. The Dutch submarine would slip her moorings and leave at sunset. It was not just a plan any more. It had started.

He said, ‘All right, ask him to come in. I'll make some excuse and get rid of him.'

As the door closed he said, ‘Mackenzie's a fine girl. She should go for that commission.'

‘Really, sir?'

Pryce did not smile. A raw point. A weakness. Always useful to know.

Major Guest came into the office, followed by a tall sergeant.

Guest said, ‘Sorry to barge in like this. I've been trying to see you.' He glanced through the window as another incoming vehicle was stopped for inspection. ‘But I can see you're somewhat pushed for time today.'

Pryce was looking questioningly at the sergeant. Guest said, ‘In this job I need Sergeant Penrose in case I forget something.' He smiled, but it was completely without warmth. ‘In the early days out here things were so simple. The Captain-in-Charge was in Colombo, and he was always available when the Provost Marshal needed help or
information.' He waved his hand. ‘Now there's an admiral, more ships than you can count, and right in the middle there's your Special Operations Section.'

Pryce said sharply, ‘Yes, it's the war. Bloody nuisance really. So what do you want of me?'

Guest sat down uninvited opposite the Wren officer. ‘My chaps have been investigating the unlawful issue of petrol, among other things, as well as the improper use of vehicles. Mostly an Army matter, but all sorts become involved.'

‘I hardly think it's of any interest to me.'

A telephone rang noisily and Second Officer Blandford covered the mouthpiece with her hand.

‘Commander Crookshank has come aboard, sir.' She saw the major's mouth twitch in another cold smile, obviously amused at the use of naval expressions even this far from the sea. But she was used to it, and at the same time irritated by the man's arrogance. Misuse of petrol indeed!

Pryce said, ‘Go and take care of him, will you, Victoria? Give him some tea or something.' He added meaningfully, ‘I shouldn't be very long now.'

Guest cleared his throat. ‘We detained two men, and charges will follow in due course. However, during the investigations evidence was found that one of the men had been using service vehicles on a regular basis. Doubtless other arrests will be made shortly.'

Pryce said unhelpfully, ‘So what does this have to do with me? I would have thought that the whole thing shows a lack of proper discipline and control. Any soldier, or rating for that matter, is only as good as his officers dictate, right?'

‘Up to a point, sir.' Guest glanced at the Wren officer's legs as she crossed them again. ‘One of the arrested men has claimed in his defence that he was ordered to use the car
without proper authority. To take an officer on some private journey, which in itself is an offence.'

‘I am aware of that, Major.' Pryce looked pointedly at his watch. ‘Does it concern this section?'

Guest took his time. ‘On the night that Second Officer Jane Clarke was murdered, the arrested man dropped the officer on that same road, and was told to call back for him after visiting a shop on someone's behalf. We are pretty certain that the officer was Major Trevor Sinclair, Royal Marines, who is attached to this section.'

Pryce stared at him. ‘But I thought
you
had checked every detail. I thought you knew where everybody was. I seem to recall that you were quick enough to criticize the security
here
, when all the time . . .'

Guest shrugged. ‘We were wrong. But that was then. We had thousands of enquiries to carry out, passes to check, everything.'

‘Are you suggesting that Major Sinclair is a suspect?'

‘We have to follow up enquiries, sir. I have seen the Chief-of-Staff.' He hesitated. ‘You understand that I had no alternative when I was unable to make contact with you.'

‘And he passed the buck, did he?'

Guest met his angry stare and said, ‘I am empowered to interview Major Sinclair, sir. There are questions which have to be answered. We might then avoid the involvement of the S.I.B., or even worse, detectives from London. It would all take time. This way . . .'

Pryce stood up lightly. ‘Major Sinclair is not available. I am not permitted to discuss it further, but the nature of our work here should be self-explanatory.'

Guest also rose. ‘It is. Thank you for your co-operation, sir.' He nodded to his sergeant. ‘Some other time, then. I should like to be informed of his return as soon as possible.'

Pryce rubbed his chin. ‘Major Sinclair is a very
courageous officer, one who has more than earned the decorations he has received. But for his present, ah, commitment, he would have been on his way to England to receive an even higher decoration from the King in person.'

Guest watched him curiously. ‘In your kind of work, sir, where men risk their lives again and again without question, the distinction must be a fine one.'

‘Distinction?'

‘Between hero and trained killer, sir.'

The door closed, and in the silence their boots could be heard thumping down the passageway to the entrance.

Pryce said at length, ‘Do you have a cigarette, er, Celia?'

She took a packet from her shoulder-bag, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘I thought you didn't smoke, sir.'

He took a cigarette and waited for her to light it. Then he coughed and said, ‘I gave it up. Now I'm starting again.'

‘Is it true, sir? I mean, could they be wrong?'

‘“
In our kind of work
”
–
what the hell does he know about it?' He watched the smoke rising into the fan. ‘Nothing changes the fact that Operation
Trident
is under way, and Major Sinclair is an essential part of it. His experience and his courage are rare, even in Special Operations. He is dedicated. Totally.'

She nodded, thinking busily. So Captain Pryce had deliberately avoided meeting with Guest until he knew the operation had started. Had he suspected Sinclair all along, or did he simply not care, provided the attack was a success?

She said, ‘I thought Petty Officer Mackenzie was quite troubled on one occasion when Major Sinclair came to Operations. I was out of the room. She was alone with him. She seemed very nervous, frightened.'

‘That's the first I've heard of it.'

She smiled. Passing the buck. ‘Would you like me to tell her, sir? Put her in the picture?'

‘No
.
'
It came out too sharply. ‘What good would it do? I need everyone here on top line.' He swung round as Commander Crookshank ambled into the office, his face set in an anxious smile. Victoria was with him.

But the Wren officer was thinking about her subordinate, the way she held her head. Pride, defiance: whatever it was, you could never forget her. There was no need to tell her. You could see it in her fine, tawny eyes.

And at that moment she knew that the girl named Victoria was stronger than all of them.

‘All present, sir.'

Ross looked around the control-room. All the officers, including the two chariot crews and those who had been standing watch-and-watch throughout the passage, and also the chief and petty officers not on duty, were crammed into the
Tybalt
's nerve-centre. Others overflowed into the passageway; one was even standing on the bottom rung of the conning tower ladder for a better view. Ross could feel their eyes, the power of them, searching his face for some sign of confidence or of doubt. The measure of life and death.

Three-and-a-half days since they had slipped away from the depot-ship, crowded days during which every sort of preparation was made, and instructions were rammed home so that nobody would forget when it was too late to ask questions. Major Trevor Sinclair had been a tower of strength. Ross did not know why it should have surprised him, when the man had such a reputation. It was as if he needed a challenge, like oxygen, like blood. He never seemed to lose his temper, and he had been seen sharing a joke with his handful of Gurkhas on several occasions. Any
rift between him and his youthful captain, Pleydell, had been forgotten, or so it appeared. Ross had seen Sinclair sitting in on Pleydell's briefing of the N.C.O.s, who would be responsible for launching the collapsible boats and getting them away from the submarine within minutes of reaching a suitable position. Watchful, listening to every point and question, he was a different man entirely.

Ross said, ‘We shall surface in about twenty minutes.' Somebody dropped a pan in the galley and he added, ‘Which is why I got you up so bloody early for breakfast!'

Several of them laughed or nudged a companion. Ordinary, commonplace things. He glanced at the curved steel, listening to the muted hum of electric motors. A weapon, Pryce had called
Tybalt.
But to these men she was home, even though all but two of them were complete strangers to the boat and, in many cases, to one another. The sailor's way. The Navy's way. Ross had seen men walk along the upended keel of their sinking ship, rather than leave her and swim to safety before she sucked them down with her. Few outside the service really understood; fewer still could explain it.

He saw Mike Tucker watching him, his jaw still moving on the remains of his breakfast. It made him think of Peter Napier. He should have been here . . . How many times had that been said? And how many more?

‘At present, we are passing between the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. When we surface we shall be able to see if the navigation has been accurate or not!' More grins, but each one would be hiding a mounting tension, a fervent wish to get on and get it over with.

‘According to my instructions, we should be prepared to be challenged, most likely by aircraft.' He did not need to tell them that any first encounter would reveal the value of Tsao's information, or the lack of it. Each man would know
and be prepared for the worst. ‘The enemy will assume we are heading for Penang. It would have been our destination if we were in fact the missing U-Boat. But we shall alter course and head straight for the Peninsula. To the target.' He looked around at their faces; even the planesman seemed to be listening, although his back was turned while he watched his instruments. ‘It is a prime one: the depot-ship and, we hope, some U-Boats alongside. As for our chariot crews from the Colonies . . .' He waited for the laughter and cheers to die away and saw the Canadian, Bill Walker, wink at him. The other chariot skipper was Lieutenant Dick Challice, a New Zealander from Wellington. ‘They will make for the other vessel, a supply tanker.' He paused. There was no humour now. ‘It will not be easy. If it was, we wouldn't be here. I can't even warn you about heroics. In my book you have proved your courage more than enough – anything else would be an insult.' He thought suddenly of her lovely face against his in the night, in the moonlight. Her mother must have been very like her. No wonder the old Colonel had lost his heart, and had turned his back on those who had condemned him.

He saw the first lieutenant bending over the chart, his fingers busy with parallel rulers and dividers. A submarine could almost think for herself, but a human brain was still needed to make a decision.

He said, ‘Go to your stations now. Gun crews stand by.' He turned away and heard the gathering break up. They knew what to do. To wish them good luck was pointless; even to consider the margin of safety was a waste of breath.

He looked at the first lieutenant. ‘All set?'

Murray nodded. ‘Pity that bloody war-correspondent didn't come with us. He would have seen a few sights he'd remember for a long time!'

Mike Tucker, waiting to take over the helm, said, ‘He'll
probably shit himself anyway when he finds out the Dutchman isn't just along for the laughs!'

Ross watched the clock's second hand: it seemed to drag across each mark. What if Richard Tsao had been betrayed, and was even at this moment gasping out his life under torture? The target was anchored in comparatively shallow water, ensuring that any submarine would have to surface when making a final approach. The Germans were too professional to miss something like that. Perhaps Tsao was right, and the Japanese
were
too confident about their overall domination, and the power of the fear they used like an additional weapon.