Smith scanned the orders. He was required forthwith to reconnoitre with the force at his disposal the coast south of De Haan and take any requisite action. He was to be careful of hazarding his ships or his men.
It was sufficient, all he had hoped for because he knew his case was hard to argue; he had argued it enough to know. The Navy was fighting desperately against mounting losses of merchant shipping from U-boats and with one eye always on the German High Seas Fleet where it lurked, waiting, in its North Sea base in the Jade river. To the Admiralty the threat hidden in the woods south of De Haan was a problematical one and a sideshow at that.
He stuffed the orders in his pocket as Hacker said, “There’s a train for Dover in half-an-hour. And I’ve sent a signal asking for another reconnaissance flight.”
Smith said, “I don’t think you’ll get it. I talked to one of the pilots at St. Pol and he said it wasn’t on. His Squadron Commander won’t have it.”
Hacker said, not looking at Smith, “It’s worth a try.” He thought there was only a slim chance that Smith might succeed. He did not say it but Smith could read the thought behind Hacker’s face. He went on, “I intend to go myself as observer. I’ve done a bit of that.” He settled back in the corner and tipped his cap forward over his eyes. “It was a long night, as the young lady said to the Colonel. Call me at Victoria.”
Smith grinned but became serious as he stared forward, eyes vague and his thoughts racing ahead.
They were bound for Dunkerque and the war.
Chapter Eight
They got a passage in a destroyer bound for Dunkerque and sailed from Dover under clear skies. As she approached Dunkerque Roads, Smith, standing on her bridge with her captain and Hacker, saw there were yet fewer monitors at anchor in the Roads — but Marshall Marmont was out there. He grinned at Hacker. “They’ve worked hard on her!” And as Hacker raised his eyebrows “The engineers told me it was a full day’s work for the dockyard but she’s out again already.” Things were going right at last.
At his request the destroyer hoisted a signal and minutes later he saw Marshall Marmont’s pinnace following them into port. The destroyer was going on into the basin but she stopped and lowered a boat to set Smith and Hacker ashore on the quay where Sparrow was tied up in the Port d’Echouage. As he climbed the ladder to the quay he noted that some of Sparrow’s damage had been made good. There was a lot of raw, new paint and she had a whaler again but the wrecked wireless shack was still a wreck. As he strode along the quay towards her he saw Garrick climb up from Marshall Marmont’s pinnace that had hooked on near the Trystram lock and they met at the foot of Sparrow’s brow. Smith returned his salute and said, “Congratulations. You’re ready for sea.”
Garrick’s face was set. He said bitterly, “No, sir. We’re not. After you’d gone we received a signal from the Commodore. The ship wasn’t to be put into the dockyard here. She’s to go to Chatham instead. There’s a tow arranged for tomorrow morning.”
Smith stood on the quay taking it in, conscious of the orders in his pocket and a feeling of foreboding. As if to match his mood the clouds were breeding now and a shadow fell over them on the quay, the breeze turned chill. He could hear the gun-fire from the lines at Nieuport as always, but today it seemed louder and more continuous, a constant, distant thunder.
Hacker strode up and said, “The Naval Air Service people have sent a car. There’s a Harry Tate waiting for me at St. Pol.” He hesitated, then said, “Maybe we could get together for a drink. Afterwards.”
Smith answered, “That’s a good idea.” Looking beyond Hacker he could see the familiar Rolls Royce. He shook the hand that Hacker stuck out and watched the soldier cross the quay and duck into the car. It pulled away.
He heard Garrick say, “Of course, I went to see Trist and told him you’d ordered me to see the repair carried out immediately. He only said that he was responsible for priorities. So I had a quiet word with the dockyard and they’ve got plenty of work but they would have taken us if Trist hadn’t stopped them. Maybe you could put it to him better than I did, sir.”
Smith said, “I doubt it.” It would be too late, anyway. He needed the monitor to sail with Sparrow tonight. He wondered why Trist had done it. Surely not spite? No. Caution. Trist did not want to risk the ships, did not believe, or want to believe that the woods at De Haan were anything other than what they seemed. After all, he had not listened to the Kapitänleutnant gasping out his threat with the last of his life. Smith took a breath. “I’m going to see the Commodore anyway.”
“Good luck, sir. I’ll wait aboard Sparrow and have a jaw with young Sanders.”
Smith nodded. “I’ll see you there.”
As Smith left him, Garrick called back, “Buckley asked to come along in case you wanted him, sir. He’s in the pinnace.”
Smith lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Buckley. Garrick. Loyalty. He walked on to meet Trist, crossing the locks and striding along past Le Coq and the other little bars up to the house at the Parc de la Marine. He thought that he had trodden this path too often but, one way or another, this would be the last time. After tonight he would not have this command, of that he was certain. He had stirred up a hornets’ nest to get his way and Trist would see to it that he paid the price. Trist would get rid of him, somehow.
The Commodore received him in the long room. He sat in it alone, behind his desk at the head of it, an impressive figure as Smith walked the length of the room, heels clicking on the polished floor. Trist sat upright in the high-backed chair but he seemed relaxed.
He kept Smith standing.
Smith said, “I have orders from the Admiralty, sir.”
He held out the paper and Trist took it, glanced at it casually then flipped it back. He smiled thinly. “Yes. I know all about it, of course. Their Lordships sent me a signal. As it should be, how thin should be done. I may not have gone crawling to the seats of the mighty but I know more than you think.”
Smith started, “Sir, with respect I did not —”
But Trist held up a hand. “Never mind. That’s all behind us now. I had two signals. The second informed me that I am being, not promoted, but given another appointment. With a decoration, of course.”
“I’m very glad, sir.” Smith said it without expression.
He wondered if others had gone behind Trist’s back. Had whispers reached the Admiralty from Trist’s Staff? He remembered the unhappy faces of some of them when Trist had ordered Sparrow to make her ‘offensive’ patrol of the coast.
But Trist was saying, “My successor will find the affairs of my command in order. I have always contrived to keep up to date, with the help of a loyal Staff. It only remains for me to write my report and my reports on officers and make my recommendations.”
Smith knew what that meant. Trist would report on him and it would be there in black and white, or knowing this devious, cautious man, dirty grey. Forever.
Trist said softly, “So. I have my orders and you have yours and your flotilla. Carry on with my blessing.”
Smith stood in silence for a moment. Now he had to ask. Trist knew it and was waiting for him. He said slowly, “Sir. Marshall Marmont’s engines —”