Guy’s heart suddenly opened towards him. Here was his own kin. He yearned to show the medal he wore. Gervase’s souvenir from Lourdes. There were men who would have done exactly that; better men than he who would perhaps have said “Snap” and drawn a true laugh from the sullen Halberdier and so have made true peace between them.
But Guy, with all this in his mind to do, merely felt in his pocket for two half-crowns and said: “Here. Will this make things better?”
“Oh yes, sir, thank you. Very much better, sir,” and the Goanese turned and went on his way rejoicing a little, but not as a fellow man at peace; merely as a servant unexpectedly over-tipped.
*
The men were given a “long lie” that morning. At eleven o’clock Guy paraded his company on deck. An unusually large and varied breakfast—the normal third-class fare of the line—had dissipated the annoyances of the night. They were in good heart. He handed them over to their platoon commanders to check stores and equipment and went to explore. The Second Battalion had done better than the others, who were close packed in the ship moored next to them. They had their transport to themselves except for Brigade Headquarters and a medley of strangers—Free French liaison officers, Marine gunners, a naval beach-party, chaplains, an expert on tropical hygiene and the rest. A small smoking-room was labeled OPERATIONAL PLANNING, OUT OF BOUNDS TO ALL RANKS.
Lying out in the stream might be descried the huge inelegant colorless bulk of an aircraft carrier. All contact with the shore was forbidden. Sentries stood at the gangways. Military police patrolled the quay. But the object of the expedition was not long kept secret for at midday an airman jauntily swinging a parcel charged “Most Secret. By hand of officer only” allowed it to fall asunder as he approached his launch and a light breeze caught, bore up and scattered abroad some thousands of blue, white and red leaves printed with the slogan:
FRANÇAIS DE DAKAR!
Joignez-vous à nous pour délivrer la France!
GENERAL DE GAULLE
No one, except one of the chaplains who was new to military life, seriously expected that these preparations would bring anything about. The Halberdiers had been too much shifted, exhorted and disappointed during recent weeks. They accepted as part of their normal day the series of orders and cancellations and mishaps. Shore leave was given and then stopped; censorship of letters was raised and reimposed; the ship cast off, fouled an anchor, returned to the quayside; the stores were disembarked and re-embarked in “tactical order.” And then quite suddenly one afternoon they sailed. The last newspaper to come aboard told of heavier air raids. De Souza called their transport “the refugee ship.”
It seemed barely possible that they would not turn back but on they steamed into the Atlantic until they reached a rendezvous where the whole wide circle of gray water was filled with shipping of every size from the carrier and the battleship Barham, to a little vessel named Belgravia, which was reputed to carry champagne and bath-salts and other comforts for the garrison of Dakar. Then the whole convoy altered course and sailed south, destroyers racing round them like terriers, an occasional, friendly aeroplane swooping overhead and gallant little Belgravia wallowing on behind.
They practiced doubling to “action stations” twice a day. They carried “Mae West” life-belts wherever they went. But they took their tone from the smooth seas and the Goanese stewards who tinkled their musical gongs up and down the carpeted passages. All was peaceful and when the cruiser Fiji was torpedoed in full sight of them a mile or two ahead, and all the naval detachment became busy with depth-charges, the incident barely disturbed their Sunday afternoon repose.
Dunn and his signalmen had reappeared and were on board with Brigade Headquarters, but Apthorpe ignored them, perhaps never was aware of their presence, so deep were his colloquies with the specialist on tropical medicine. The men did physical training and boxed and listened to lectures about Dakar and General de Gaulle and malaria and the importance of keeping clear of native women; they lay about on the forward deck and in the evenings the chaplains organized concerts for them.
Brigadier Ritchie-Hook, alone, was unhappy. His brigade had a minor and conditional role. It was thought that the Free French would find the town beflagged for them. The only opposition expected was from the battleship Richelieu. This the Royal Marines and a unit of unknown character called a “commando” would deal with. The Halberdiers might not land at all; if they did it would be for “cleaning up” and relieving the Marines on guard duty. Little biffing. In his chagrin he quarreled with the ship’s captain and was ordered off the bridge. He prowled about the decks alone, sometimes carrying a weapon like a hedging implement which he had found valuable in the previous war.
Presently the heat grew oppressive, the air stagnant and misty. There was an odd smell, identified as that of ground-nuts, borne to them from the near but invisible coast. And word went round that they were at their destination. The Free French were said to be in parley with their enslaved compatriots. There was some firing somewhere in the mist. Then the convoy withdrew out of range and closed in. Launches went to and fro among the ships. A conference was held on the flag-ship from which Brigadier Ritchie-Hook returned grinning. He addressed the battalion, telling them that an opposed landing would take place next day, then went to the transport carrying his other battalions and gave them the stirring news. Maps were issued. The officers sat up all night studying their beaches, boundaries, second and third waves of advance. During the night the ships moved near inland and dawn disclosed a gray line of African coast across the steamy water. The battalion stood to, at their bomb-stations, bulging with ammunition and emergency rations. Hours passed. There was heavy firing ahead and a rumor that Barham was holed. A little Unfree French aeroplane droned out of the clouds and dropped a bomb very near them. The brigadier was back on the bridge, on the best of terms with the captain. Then the convoy steamed out of range once more and at sundown another conference was called. The brigadier returned in a rage and called the officers together.
“Gentlemen, it’s all off. We are merely awaiting confirmation from the War Cabinet to withdraw. I’m sorry. Tell your men and keep their spirit up.”
There was little need for this order. Surprisingly a spirit of boisterous fun suddenly possessed the ship. Everyone had been a little more apprehensive than he had shown about the opposed landing. Troop decks and mess “danced and skylarked.”
Immediately after dinner Guy was called to the room marked “Out of Bounds to all Ranks.”
He found the brigadier, the captain and Colonel Tickeridge all looking gleeful and curiously naughty. The brigadier said: “We are going to have a little bit of very unofficial fun. Are you interested?”
The question was so unexpected that Guy made no guess at the meaning and simply said: “Yes, sir.”
“We tossed up between the companies. Yours won. Can you find a dozen good men for a reconnaissance patrol?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a suitable officer to lead them?”
“Can I go myself, sir?” he said to Colonel Tickeridge.
“Yes. Go off now and warn the men to be ready in an hour. Tell them it’s an extra guard. Then come back here with a map and get your orders.”
When Guy returned he found the conspirators very cheerful.
“I’ve been having a little disagreement with the force commander,” said Ritchie-Hook. “There was some discrepancy between the naval and military intelligence about Beach A. Got it marked?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the final plan it was decided to leave Beach A alone. Some damn fool had reported it wired and generally impracticable. My belief is that it’s quite open. I won’t go into the reasons. But you can see for yourself that if we got ashore on Beach A we could have taken the frogs in the rear. They had some damn fool photographs and pretended to see wire in them and got windy. I saw no wire. The force commander said some offensive things about two eyes being better than one with a stereoscope. Th
e discussion got a bit heated. The operation is canceled and we’ve all been made to look silly, but I’d just like to make my point with the force commander. So I am sending a patrol ashore just to make certain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well, that is the intention of the operation. If you find the place wired or get shot at come back quickly and we will say no more about it. If it’s open, as I think it is, you might bring back some little souvenir that I can send the Force Commander. He’s a suspicious fellow. Any little thing that will make him feel foolish—a coconut or something like that. We can’t use the naval landing craft but the captain here has played up like a sportsman and is lending a launch for the trip. Well, I’m turning in now. I shall be glad to hear your report in the morning. Settle the tactical details with your C.O.”
Ritchie-Hook left them. The captain explained the position of the launch and the sally-port.
“Any other questions?” asked Colonel Tickeridge.
“No, sir,” said Guy. “It all seems quite clear.”
V
Two hours later Guy’s patrol paraded in the hold from which the sally-port opened. They were dressed in rubber-soled shoes, shorts, and tunic-shirts; no caps; no gas-masks; their equipment stripped down to the belt. Each had a couple of hand-grenades and his rifle, except for the Bren pair who would set up their gun on the first suitable spot and be ready to cover the retreat if they were opposed. All had blackened faces. Guy carefully gave them their instructions. The sergeant would board the boat first and land last, seeing everyone safely ashore. Guy would land first and the men run out on either side. He would carry a torch stuffed with pink tissue paper which he would flash back from time to time to give the direction. Wire, if it existed, would be above high water. They would advance inland far enough to discover whether there was wire or not. The first man to come on wire was to pass the word up to him. They would investigate the extent of the wire. A single blast of his whistle meant withdrawal to the boat… and so on.
“Remember,” he concluded, “we’re simply on reconnaissance. We aren’t trying to conquer Africa. We only fire if we have to cover our withdrawal.”
Presently they heard the winch over their head and they knew that their boat was being lowered.
“There’s an iron ladder outside. It’ll be about six foot to the water level. See that the man before you has got into place before you start going down. All set?”
The lights were all turned off in the hold before the sally-port was opened by one of the crew. It revealed a faintly lighter square and a steamy breath of the sea.
“All set below?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Then carry on, sergeant.”
One by one the men filed from the darkness into the open night. Guy followed last and took his place in the bow. There was barely room to squat. Guy experienced the classic illusion of an unknown, unsought, companion among them. The sally-port shut noisily above them. A voice said: “Any more for the Skylark?” Skylark was the mot juste, thought Guy. They cast off. The engine started with what seemed a great noise and the launch bounced gently away in the direction of Beach A.
It was nearly an hour’s run for the beach lay on the north of the town in a position which, if captured, might have secured the landing to the south. The reek of the engine, the tropic night, the cramped bodies, the irregular smack of little waves on the bows. At last the man at the wheel said: “We must be getting in now, sir.”
The engine slowed. The line of the shore was plain to see, quite near them. The clearer eyes of the seamen searched and found the wide gap of the beach. The engine was shut down and in complete silence they drifted gently inshore under their momentum. Then they touched sand. Guy was standing with his hands on the gunwale, ready. He vaulted overboard and found himself breast-high in the tepid water. He stumbled straight ahead uphill, waist-deep, knee-deep, then clear of the sea on firm sand. He was filled by the most exhilarating sensation of his life; his first foothold on enemy soil. He flashed his torch behind him and heard splashing; the boat was drifting out again and the last men had to swim a few strokes to get into their depth. He saw shadowy figures emerge and spread out on either side of him. He gave the two flashes which meant “Forward.” He could just see and hear the gun pair move off to the side flank to find a position. The patrol moved on uphill. First hard wet sand, then soft dry sand, then long spiky grass. They kept on quietly. Palm trunks rose suddenly immediately in front. The first thing he met was a fallen coconut. He picked it up and gave it to Halberdier Glass, next to him on the left.
“Take this back to the boat and wait for us there,” he whispered.
Halberdier Glass had shown signs of respect during the early stages of the expedition and an unwonted zeal.
“What me, sir? This here nut, sir? Back to the boat?”
“Yes, don’t talk. Get on with it.”
He knew then that he had lost all interest in whether he held or forfeited Glass’s esteem.
The second thing he met was wire, loosely tangled between the palm trunks. He gave the three flashes that meant: “Go carefully. ’Ware wire.”
He heard stumbling on both sides of him and whispered messages came up to him: “Wire on the left.” “Wire on the right.”
Casting a dim light forward now, and exploring with hands and feet, he discovered a low, thin, ill-made defensive belt of wire. Then he was aware of a dark figure, four paces from him, plunging forward across it.
“Stand still, that man,” he said.
The figure continued forward, clear of the wire and noisily pushing through scrub and grass and thorn.
“Come back, damn you,” Guy shouted.
The man was out of sight but still audible. Guy blew his whistle. The men obediently turned about and made off downhill for the beach. Guy stood where he was, waiting for the delinquent. He had heard that men who ran amok had sometimes been brought to their senses by an automatic response to command.
“That half-file in front,” he shouted as though in the barrack square. “About turn. Quick march.”
The only response, quite near to his left, was a challenge. “Halte-là! Qui vive?” Then the explosion of a grenade. And then suddenly firing broke out on all sides, the full span of the beach; nothing formidable, a few ragged rifle shots whistling between the palms. At once his own Bren on the flank opened up with three bursts which fell alarmingly near him. It seemed to Guy rather likely that he would soon be killed. He repeated the words which are dignified by the name “act” of contrition; words so familiar that he used them in dreams when falling from a height. But he also thought: what a preposterous way in which to get oneself killed!
He ran back to the beach. The boat was there, two men in the water held it in to the shore. The remainder of the patrol stood near it.
“Get aboard,” said Guy.
He ran across to the gunners and called them in.
There was still a lot of wild French shooting inland.
“All present and correct, sir,” reported the sergeant.
“No, there’s a man adrift up there.”
“No, sir, I’ve counted them. All present. Jump in, sir, we’d better be off while we can.”
“Wait one minute. I must just have another look.”
The R.N.V.R. lieutenant in command of the boat said: “My orders are to push off as soon as the operation is completed, or sooner if I think the boat is being put into excessive danger.”
“They haven’t seen you yet. They’re firing quite wild. Give me two minutes.”
Men, Guy knew, in the excitement of their first battle were liable to delusions. It would be highly convenient to suppose that he had imagined that dark, disappearing figure. But he went up the beach again and there saw his missing man crawling towards him.
Guy’s one emotion was anger and his first words were: “I’ll have you court-martialed for this,” and then: “Are you hit?”
“Of course I am,” said the crawling figure
. “Give me a hand.”
This was no German defense with searchlights and automatic weapons, but there had plainly been some reinforcement and the rifle shots were thicker. In his haste and anger Guy did not notice the man’s odd tone. He pulled him up, no great weight, and staggered with him to the boat. The man was clutching something under his free arm. Not until they had both been hoisted aboard and the boat was running full speed out to sea did he give his attention to the wounded man. He turned his torch to the face and a single eye flashed back at him.
“Get my leg out straight,” said Brigadier Ritchie-Hook. “And give me a field-dressing someone. It’s nothing much but it hurts like the devil and it’s bleeding too much. And take care of the coconut.”
Then Ritchie-Hook busied himself with his wound but not before he had laid in Guy’s lap the wet, curly head of a Negro.
And Guy was so weary that he fell asleep, nursing the trophy. The whole patrol was asleep by the time they reached the ship. Only Ritchie-Hook groaned and swore sometimes in semi-coma.
VI
“Would you want to be eating this nut now, sir, or later?” Halberdier Glass looked down at Guy’s bedside.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven sharp, sir, as was your orders.”
“Where are we?”
“Steaming along, sir, with the convoy, not towards home. Colonel wants to see you as soon as you’re ready.”
“Leave the nut here. I’m taking it for a souvenir.”
Guy still felt weary. As he shaved he recalled the final events of the previous night.
He had woken much refreshed, bobbing under the high walls of the ship with the head of a Negro clasped in both hands.
“We’ve a wounded man here. Can you pass down a loop for hoisting?”
There was some delay above and then from the blind black door above a light flashed down.