On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (21 page)

“
Well, ain’t you the lower deck lawyer, It’s a hurry I’m in, it’s tot time and I’ve no time for all that shite…now put ‘em up.”

“
Look. I don’t want to hurt you O’Neill, I feel it my duty to inform you I was an Oxford Blue and I am quite capable of defending myself should it be necessary.”

Now O
’Neill had no idea what an Oxford Blue was and if the truth be known he cared less, “Oh it is necessary.” He turned to his mates, “Don’t worry lads, this won’t take long, I’ll not be keeping you from your rum for long.”

“
I have no reason to fight you.”

“
Now, is that the truth… try this for size,” said the big Irishman, swinging a pile-driving right that would have floored a horse.

To the surprise of the mess deck this
‘horse’ ducked neatly under the swing and stabbed out with his left, a short sharp blow that drew blood from the Irishman’s top lip.

O
’Neill stood there wiping the blood away with one huge fist, staring at Thompson in disbelief that quickly turned to amusement when he saw that Thompson had taken up a classic Queensbury Rules stance. A lopsided smile creased O’Neill’s face as the two began to move around in the circle that had cleared around them.

“
Yourself being an educated man I’m sure you will appreciate my taking the opportunity to teach you a few things. I’m a religious man, so I’m thinking I’ll teach you about faith, hope and charity. He stabbed with a lightening left… CRUNCH! Thompson staggered back, one hand to his split lip. “That was to give you faith… the faith you’ll never get hit harder than that in the rest of your life.”

Again the left stabbed out… CRUNCH!
Thompson’s eyes glazed over either side of an already swelling nose. “That’s to give hope, hope that you’ll never see me in a bad mood again … and now charity… because,” this time it was his right that shot out… CRUNCH! “That’s the last time I’m after hitting yer.”

‘
Regatta Reg’ sank slowly to his knees, his arms straight down at his side he fell ungracefully forward onto a battered and bloody face.

*     *     *

Relaxing in the wardroom, his feet on the coffee table, Grant sipped at the pink gin, it was his second. He sniffed at the heady fumes, it smelt like perfume and put him in mind of Charlotte. She wouldn’t have liked the idea. A shadow fell across his glass and he looked up into Charlotte’s eyes. It was Crosswall-Brown. He hadn’t realised how alike they were until that moment.

“
Fancy a game of crib, old man?”

“
Why not… Sound idea,” said Grant.

Crosswall-Brown
already had the board and cards in his hand. He placed them on the small oak table to one side of Grant’s chair and pulled up another.

“
Good to be back in civilisation?” he asked shuffling the dog-eared pack.

Grant nodded his head,
“Too true. It’s like a different world, Ben. I took all this for granted when I was Number One on the old bucket.”

“
Like it all back?”

“
What the job?” He thought for a second, “No… well, at this moment…” he laughed, “… possibly yes.” He took a deep breath and looked deep into the glass. “I like the excitement of my own command…the responsibly, I suppose, certainly the independence. But you know what I really appreciate, what is even more important to me, is to be master of my own fate, at least as much as one can be in this day and age. If  I’m going to risk my life and other peoples I want it on my terms … Don’t get me wrong the ‘Old Mans’ the best… But I have served with some right…well… dangerous idiots, in my time. Mostly people who are someone’s son and heir and who don’t know their ear holes from their…Well, you know the aperture I have in mind. People who no idea how to do the job and are put in charge of those who have.”

“
People like me you mean.”

“
No! God Lord no. You’re the exception that proves the rule.”

“
That’s a relief.”

“
Sorry, you know what I mean, don’t you, old chap? To take command, it’s the hardest things any of us can be called upon to do, certainly not everyone can do it, it’s not something you should have as a right. When men’s lives are at stake old school ties shouldn’t count for anything. We British do have a tendency to put some right dunderheads at the top. Look at Haig in the last show. We put that man in charge of thousands of men and he slaughtered them. He simply did not have the ability, not an original bone in his whole body. He was more dangerous to our troops than the bloody Germans. Pure waste; pure murder, if the truth be known.” He stared into his glass. “Sorry I’m going on a bit. I’ve probably had too many of these… I know I’ll never have the kind of responsibility that that old man had. By God, I don’t think I’d want it. I’ve enough… more than enough!” He leant forward over the table. “I’ll tell you what, old chap, I’m going to use every ounce of grey matter I possess, to bring the few I have under my command through this one safely.”

“
I’ll drink to that … Steward, bring two ‘Horse’s Necks’. He laid a seven of hearts, “Fifteen two.”

*     *     *

Commander Barr rubbed his smooth, recently shaved chin and turned back to the map of Norway, “Jerry is using this coastal road to supply his troops at the front. Not surprising really, this is the only usable road. It crosses the river Landola… here. As you can see it is very near to our old base… here, at Olaf’s Inlet. The plan is to carry out a night attack and spend the following day hiding up at the Inlet. This will also give us the opportunity to gather any information the ‘Network’ have accrued since our last visit. You all have your orders in writing. That’s about it Gentlemen… unless are there any questions?”

Barr pointed at Grant
’s raised hand. “Robert?”

“
It might be a good idea to contact Olaf before the attack, sir, rather than after, he may have more up to date information on the target.”

“
Good point…but that will delay the operation by twenty-four hours…”

“
Not if we contact Olaf early enough sir, it’s only two hours from the Inlet to the bridge.”

“
True… that’s what we’ll do then. Any more for any more?…No …Suggestions?…No. Well, thank you, gentlemen, I know you all have lots to do, carry on please.”

*     *     *

As soon as it was dark the four boats slipped south, making good progress in a stern sea, they were off the Inlet three hours before first light. The ‘Eddy’s’ dingy was lowered quietly over the side and Bushel and his men paddled in along the length of the Inlet, under the high overhang and into the cave. Since they had abandoned the idea of a permanent presence they had to check for signs of the enemy before they entered. Grant had given them thirty minutes to search the cave, tunnel and cliff top.

The three men secured the dinghy and moved slowly and gingerly along the rock ledge
. Bushel was in the lead, using the canvas sling of his Lanchester to check for trip wires. He edged forward, half a step at a time the gun held out in front, its sling dangled to the cave floor.

It was surprising how much warmer it was below ground. Bushel had, almost, come to think of the place as home. They had constructed a sleeping gallery
halfway up where the tunnel widened. Nature had done most of the work for them, they had simply levelled the floor and fixed mountaineering spikes into the hard rock walls to take their hammocks.

Bushel climbed on pass the gallery, all seemed as they had left it. If it weren
’t for the cold the task of guarding the Inlet it would have been a quiet number, even more so since the construction of the ‘HQ’ around the tunnel exit at the top. It had taken them two nights to roll and drag the trees into position and to carefully arrange them to look like a natural fall of timber. Inside they had rigged one of the ‘Nishga’s’ canvas awnings, suspending it from the tree trunks forming the roof.

The HQ was the first of his
‘Thoughts’, that’s what he called them, his little play on words… his little joke… too little to tell the others. ‘Thought One’ was the HQ at the top of the tunnel, ‘Thoughts Two and Three’, had yet to be started, they were to be machine gun positions constructed in a similar manner to the HQ that would give flanking fire, should the need ever arise.

With the thick snow cover the construction was invisible from the air as well as from the ground. Not invisible, no that wasn
’t the word, undetectable no… indistinguishable, yeah that was it indistinguishable from the other piles of wood in the plantation. He remembered how he had spent moonlit nights meticulously covering everything with a dusting of pine needles only to have it snow shortly after completion.

The work had made the position on the cliff top better for their purposes, but there was still room for improvement… as his school reports used to say.

Before the discovery of the tunnel the position had been a death-trap. He had realised that the first time he’d laid eyes on it. It would have been impossible to withdraw under fire with their backs to the cliff, even if the boats had waited… and Barr had made it bloody clear that they wouldn’t be doing that.

He climbed on…He
’d spent a lot of time trying to figure out an escape route before the tunnel had been discovered. Now if the worst came to the worst they could all climb down into the sleeping gallery and hide up, with all their supplies, for months if need be.

He reached the hatch into the HQ and switched off the torch. He shut his eyes
tight for a few seconds to regain some night vision.

Even if an attacking force took the HQ, they would be hard put to find
this hatch. No one would dream that there could be anything but solid rock here. He remembered his alarm when the matloes had suddenly appeared from the tunnel that first time. Silly bastards nearly got themselves shot.

After the
‘Nishga’s’ Chippy had fitted a hatch ‘Snake’ had camouflaged it. He had some patience, that bloke, you had to hand it to him…he had individually chosen the small rocks, from among the same type that had littered the ground around the immediate area of ‘Thought One’. The rocks fitted into the existing floor like a jig saw; not a straight line anywhere, it was difficult to find even though they knew where it was.

He eased a shoulder against it
now, inching it open the tiniest fraction. It was dark out there, he felt around for any wires.

Everything seemed in order,
as quietly as he could he scrambled through, checking behind the hatch cover before lying it gently back onto the floor. Suddenly something cracked to his right. He dropped to one knee swinging his gun round. A rodent of some kind rustled away into a dark corner. He listened for a few moments, his finger poised on the trigger, taking the first pressure. You could never be too careful, he smiled to himself, there could always be more than one rat.

At the
observation slit in the wood wall he listened for several minutes. Hearing nothing he returned to the tunnel entrance and whispered,

“
‘Snake’ take the main path… Blakey, the cliff tops. Look for footprints in the snow and remember where you’ve trod I don’t want any false alarms over our own footprints.”

*     *     *

The marine scouting party found plenty of reindeer prints, but no sign of human visitors. ‘Snake’ stayed as lookout at HQ while the others climbed back down the tunnel to the dinghy. It took only minutes to give the waiting boats the all clear.

As soon as they were alongside Sub Lieutenant Hogg
, accompanied by Bushel, climbed to the surface and putting on skis, set off at a fast pace to make contact with Kristiansand as planned.

*     *     *

On the ‘Eddy’, below decks there were different priorities.

“
Earpy, you know any Germans?” asked Wilson.

Wyatt thought for a moment,
“No, Why?”

“
Just thinking.”

“
What about?”

“
Arh…You know…I mean what’s so different about ‘em, that makes ‘em do all this,” He was indicating a dog-eared, month old, newspaper.

“
Arh, you don’t wanna take any notice of that, that’s all a load of bollocks. They dream all that up just to sell newspapers, everyone knows that!”

Goddard put his darning aside to join in the conversation.
“I knew an Austrian lived near us, baker, he was all right.” said Goddard.

O
’Neill rubbed his blue veined nose, “It’s not your ordinary man that’s the problem now is it? It’s the bloody politicians. Aren’t they the ones that are responsible, they make all the troubles of the world. By rights it should be them that should sort the bastard out. When I’m in a bit of trouble ashore I don’t go asking Chamberlain to sort it out for me, do I? They cocked it up, they should sort it out, not drag every other bastard into it.”