Sheridan reappeared from beneath the chart screen and said sharply, “There’s more yet, sir.” He was looking at Drummond.
Drummond said, “Let’s have it then.”
He was thinking back over the months and years. Now, with Scharnhorst sunk, Tirpitz trapped and impotent in her Norwegian lair, there was only the Moltke. She was coming south to the dock which now lay astern, shattered and out of action. The German battlecruiser was rendered as helpless as her consorts. She had nowhere else to go.
Sheridan’s voice touched his mind like a hot wire.
“Commander Keith Drummond will take all steps to evacuate landing parties without delay. He will assume overall control of Smash-Hit until otherwise instructed. ” Sheridan stared at him. “End of signal.”
Beaumont spoke first, his voice brittle with doubt and anger.
“What in hell’s name do they think they’re doing? Why, that would mean-“
Drummond said flatly, “That you are relieved, sir. As of now.”
He sought out Ives. “Make to Victor. Follow my instructions.”
He watched Beaumont, half expecting him to attack him. He felt neither elation nor surprise. Everything seemed planned and inevitable. They all had parts, and he wondered what Beaumont’s lines would be next.
Beaumont shouted, “You can’t do it, Drummond! How dare they treat me like this! After all I’ve done!”
“Victor’s signalling, sir. M.B. T. s withdrawing now. Six M.L.s in company. Remainder sunk or captured.”
Drummond nodded. To Beaumont he said, “We will tow Lomond clear and if possible make contact with the salvage tug. She’s not too badly damaged.”
Beaumont seemed unable to grasp what was happening. “The Moltke is coming! I’m not running away, even if you are!”
Wingate and Sheridan watched silently as Drummond swung round and replied bitterly, “Nobody’s running, sir. After the way you left de Pass to do your job, I’m surprised you’ve got the gall to suggest it! That’s your ship we’re towing back there! While you were dashing about in the M.G.B. and looking grand, men were dying. Like they did in the fjord because you stayed outside.” He took a quick breath. “Like they did in the Conqueror when you advised your admiral to scatter the convoy and escort.”
He knew the others were staring at him but could not stop.
“You thought that a German cruiser was coming between the screen and the convoy, didn’t you? That Conqueror would smash her to scrap before her captain knew what had happened? You didn’t bargain for a bloody battlecruiser!”
Beaumont’s mouth was hanging open. He stammered, “It’s a lie! You’ve been conniving with that woman, with that lying rating Carson. The ungrateful-“
Drummond snapped, “Yes, we know. After all you’ve done.”
A great explosion rolled out of the darkness and made the snow swirl up and around the dripping lookouts like steam. Another of the commando’s charges must have burst to add to the general havoc.
When he looked at Beaumont again he saw that he was standing very stiff and straight on the gratings.
Drummond said quietly, “The pity is that so many had to die because of your folly in the first place, and so many afterwards to cover your deception.”
Two motor torpedo boats scudded between the destroyers, decks black with exhausted troops and marines.
Wingate cleared his throat as they all caught the brief intrusion from the solitary piper.
“I’m glad he made it okay,” he said.
Drummond said, “Pass the word to keep a close watch for small surface craft until we get clear. E-boats, anything. Although I doubt they’ll be hereabouts. More likely they’ll be following the Moltke to see her safely to her dock.”
Hillier said, “Well, we spoiled things for that one!”
Sheridan said, “Lomond’s wheelhouse is a shambles, sir. Most of the hands were wiped out by shell-splinters.”
“Ask for volunteers. Just enough to manage her until we know what’s happening.”
His mind strayed elsewhere. Weather and distance. No aircover as yet, but surface vessels on way. But what and how many?
Beaumont said dully, “I’m going aft. ” He flipped the peak of his cap very casually. “It’s not over yet. Not by a long chalk.”
“Carry on, Number One.” Drummond could feel the exhaustion sapping him down. “Now it’s done, I can almost feel sorry for him.”
Sheridan shrugged. “I just can’t believe it, sir. It’s like a bloody nightmare.”
“Signal from Admiralty, sir.”
“Read it.”
He saw Sheridan hovering at the top of a ladder, one foot swinging in space.
“Moltke and escort reported as being to north-west of your estimated position. Weather clearing in same vicinity. Air cover will be despatched as soon as possible.”
“Phew.” Wingate rubbed his chin. “Let’s hope the high-fly boys get to us before she does!” He looked round the bridge. “Two old ladies against that big bastard! Not for me, thanks!”
Drummond was thinking busily. He must keep to the original plan as much as possible. Otherwise the supporting ships and aircraft would lose valuable time looking for them. And those overcrowded craft from Light Coastal Forces, many of them crammed with wounded troops, despite the order to leave them behind to the enemy’s mercy, could be wiped out in a single broadside.
If only they had some M.T.B.s with their tubes still full. At least they might then tackle the two German destroyers. They would be fast and powerful. But that was normal enough. They had been fighting those sort of odds for years.
But the Moltke. Nothing could shift her. Damaged or not, she was a formidable fighting machine.
Sheridan had been right. It was like a nightmare. Each piece seemed to be linked to something else, a tiny incident, a fragment of memory.
Like the man Carson. Their visit had not been in vain after all. Perhaps the fact he had taken the trouble to accompany Sarah to his bedside had helped the man to rally. Enough to make a fresh statement, enough to have someone like Brooks believe it.
Drummond had worked some of it out for himself, and guessed the rest. Beaumont had not denied it this time. Not in his usual style. It would be interesting to see which way the Admiralty jumped when they were back in the cool sanity of Brooks’ bunker.
He thought of Selkirk dying in his ship. Of the colonel with a sandwich in his fist as he had gone ashore with his raiders.
Suppose he himself had been killed? To whom would control of the operation have been handed then? he wondered.
He looked up, off guard. The snow was passing away towards the starboard quarter, leaving the bridge and rigging shining in the gloom like icing on a giant cake.
He peered at his watch. It was four-fifteen in the morning. When daylight came to them again, it was impossible to know what might be waiting.
Drummond wiped the rail with his glove, feeling the snow crisping into ice.
Who touches me dies. A good many had discovered that, he thought grimly.
Wingate called, “Bosun’s mate wants permission to bring some cocoa to the bridge, sir.”
“Never more welcome.”
He walked aft to watch the Lomond’s narrow hull veering back and forth across the stern.
Lomond’s engineer might even be able to raise steam soon. It would help considerably.
He sat in his chair swallowing the thick, glutinous cocoa, his body aching, his face raw from the cold.
Beaumont would probably be transferred to some obscure shore duty where his actions would pass unnoticed. It would not do to drop him altogether. Unless the question of Sarah’s brother was reopened.
Drummond rubbed his sore eyes with the back of his glove. It all seemed remote and unreal.
The first hint of daylight came with a gradual streak of grey far astern where land had been. As it strengthened, and the weary men at guns and lookout stations rubbed their eyes and tried to keep warm, Victor’s lithe silhouette took on shape again, her battle ensigns still flying, very white against the full-bellied clouds.