Smith snapped irritably, “I know that, damn it!”
“Sure.” Curtis pushed his hair back from his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”
“How often have you done this?”
“This is the first time. I guess maybe it’s the first time it has been done. I asked why and got told it was none of my damn business, but they did say the weather had been bad for flying people in and two of them meant two aeroplanes or two trips. And that there was someone able to get in and organise the reception committee so I didn’t have to worry.” He laughed shortly at that. “But that’s all I know.”
Someone able to get in? Maybe a neutral, a Dutchman whose business took him frequently into Belgium, who could arrange for the lights to be lit and the boat to be met, if it came, when the weather was right? It was a possible explanation but only that. And it was not Curtis’s business, nor Smith’s.
He stared at the chart, already seeing the problems, planning. “Anything else? A challenge? Passwords? And how many in the party?”
“Two, sir. And the challenge is ‘Sword-bearer’ and the answer ‘Nineteen’. And one of the people is —”
“What?” Smith spun round from the chart. “Sword-bearer!”
Curtis glanced at him, startled. “That mean something to you, sir? Are you involved in this already?”
Smith took a breath. “I didn’t think so.” Sword-bearer. Schwertträger. It couldn’t be coincidence. He pushed out from under the hood and said, “We’ll try to do it.”
Curtis looked relieved. He said, “I’m obliged, sir. I feel real bad about it, those people hanging on.”
“Not your fault. Just bad luck.” Smith eyed him. “I don’t want to tow you now because I’ll be in a hurry.”
“Don’t worry about us, sir.” Curtis started to edge aft. “We’ll clear those screws. You want us to follow on then?”
“No.” The CMB would arrive too late to do any good and might get in the way if Sparrow had to fight or run and both were likely. “You can do no more. As soon as you get under way, head for home. Now get along.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Smith saw him start aft and himself turned back to the charttable and laid off the course himself, checked it, showed it to Lorimer then ran forward. As he climbed on to the bridge he saw the CMB drifting away, Curtis already crouched in her stern by the dinghy there, waiting to go down into the sea again as soon as Sparrow pulled away and her wash had cleared them. Smith remembered Curtis had been about to tell him something. “One of the people is…” But whatever it was, it was not important enough to delay because every second counted. He ordered, “Course is six-five degrees! Revolutions for twenty knots!”
Dunbar ordered, “Starboard ten! Steer six-five.”
Gow acknowledged, “Steer six-five degrees, sir!”
The engine-room telegraphs clanged and Dunbar spoke into the voice pipe. “Revolutions for twenty knots.” Sparrow’s screws turned, slowly, then gradually the beat of the engines quickened. The CMB was left tossing astern of them.
Gow reported, “Course six-five degrees, sir.”
Smith turned on Sanders and Dunbar. “We’re going to take some people off the beach.” Dunbar only grunted but Sanders’s mouth opened in surprise. Smith told them Curtis’s orders then went on: “I want the whaler ready to slip and I want two or three extra hands along.” If they were discovered there might well be casualties and extra hands would be needed then. “Boat’s compass and torches. Small arms for everybody. That means revolvers with an empty chamber under the hammer and safetycatches on.” He paused to take a breath and saw Sanders staring at him, swallowing with excitement. Smith went on, “I’ll go in the whaler with Lorimer. Tell Buckley to come along as well. We’ll need a buoy to rendezvous on. I want a boat anchor slung below a grating. On the top of the grating lash an empty oil drum with a crutch hanging inside on a length of twine. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Sanders looked disappointed. Had he hoped to be going in the whaler? But Dunbar would have need of him.
“Get on with it, then.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Sparrow was running near twenty knots now, the wind plucking at them on the bridge and her engines pounding away, thick smoke rolling astern of them. They would make an easily-seen target but that was a risk that had to be taken. Curtis had said that time was important and it would be a close-run thing at twenty knots. Less would not do.
They raced on through the night and the report came up from where young Lorimer was hunched over the chart. “Ostende on the starboard beam.”
No doubt it was but there was nothing to see, only the lowering black clouds that merged in the darkness with the oily sea, a sea split white by Sparrow’s bow wave that spread out on either side of her in phosphorescent silver to be swallowed by the wash from her whirling screws.
With Ostende astern Sparrow turned at Smith’s order and closed the shore. “Half ahead both.” Sparrow slowed and the vibrating of the frame eased. And later, “Slow ahead.”
Sparrow was creeping on to her station but that station should have been taken by Curtis’s CMB and she only drew three feet. Sparrow was drawing nine and Dunbar had a man in the chains just below the bridge with the lead going. His voice came up to them: “Quarter less three!” Sparrow had barely sixteen feet of water under her. She was not running aground but it was close enough.
Smith nodded at Dunbar and he ordered, “Port five.” He stood by the compass as Sparrow’s head came round. “Steady…steer that.”
Smith said, “Look out to starboard. For two lights.” As if to frustrate them the darkness became impenetrable blackness as a squall swept over them, rain lashing down to drum on oilskins and wash over their faces as they strained their eyes into the night. Then the squall was gone but the darkness still hid the shore from them and nobody cursed that. Sparrow nudged steadily through the sea, a quiet ship now so they could have talked in normal tones but voices were hushed. The nearest of the German batteries at Ostende was barely three miles away to the south and the guns at De Haan no farther north. If Sparrow had ventured into the enemy’s backyard before, now she was at his back door. Only the night protected them from that cross-fire.
Smith looked at his watch again. It was twenty-one minutes after midnight and Sparrow must turn soon, creep back along her course…