Andrew said: ‘They’re taking this seriously.’
‘Yes,’ the Colonel said. ‘Your craft is about there.’ He pointed. ‘Under the harbour wall. The drain I’m taking you to has an outlet about thirty feet to the left of where she lies. And about ten feet above the harbour floor – try to drop as quietly as possible. I should wait for a cloud to cross the moon before jumping off. After that, you’re on your own.’
‘This drain,’ Abonitu said, ‘– you are sure it is clear?’
‘There was a grille at the far end, but it went in the storms last winter. It’s clear.’
Andrew had some doubts about that when, with a final whispered ‘Good luck’, the Colonel dropped the heavy drain cover into place above their heads. The drain was a circular bore about three feet in diameter; crawling on hands and knees ice cracked beneath them and icicles broke off against their heads. They had the Colonel’s parting gift, a Woolworth’s pocket torch with a battery barely strong enough to give a faint flicker of light in front of them. Its value was only psychological; when the drain dipped suddenly to a thirty-degree incline, Andrew only knew it as he began to slide forward. He splayed his arms out against the sides and halted his descent. Behind him, Abonitu’s voice called, low pitched but urgent:
‘Andrew! You are all right?’
‘A bit shaken. I should come down feet first if I were you.’
Their progress was slow after that. At one point a section of roof had collapsed, and the tunnel was practically blocked with rubble, which they had to shift laboriously and carefully, fearful of another fall. And there was a stretch where ice had formed to a depth of nearly two feet. They had to inch their way over it for something like thirty yards. The Colonel, Andrew decided, knew less about the drain than he had said he did, if he had been prepared to bring a woman crippled with rheumatism through this. It might not be clear all the way through. And if it wasn’t …
There was a brighter glimmer than the torch’s light ahead. He struggled on, and saw that it was moonlight. In a short time he was able to look out over the harbour floor. He could see the expanse of ice and frozen mud and, to his right, the Hovercraft. Away to the left was the opening to the outer harbour. Three grounded ships effectively blocked it. Their sides, frost-coated, were bright.
Andrew made room for Abonitu beside him. They spoke, whispering into each other’s ears. They were uncertain how far sound might carry; above them, at one point, they heard the crunch of feet in the snow.
‘I can see one man standing up,’ Andrew said. ‘One of theirs, I should think.’
Abonitu said: ‘Yes. That is a rifle he carries.’
‘Why didn’t the others make the attempt to get clear? Not because they wouldn’t leave us behind, surely.’
‘No, not that. They are confused, frightened. What do you expect of Africans?’
He spoke with bitterness. Andrew said: ‘Lucky for us, anyway. If we can keep close to the wall and not get spotted, we can get in by the rear exhaust. After that, we’ll have to see how it goes.’
‘We can do better, I think. I get in by the exhaust, draw his attention. He will perhaps think I am one of the others. If you climb the ramp, and drop down on board nearer the controls …’
‘Yes, that is better. If you can, hit him as soon as she starts moving. Get his rifle and deal with the others. God, I hope the engines pick up!’
Abonitu looked out across the harbour. ‘And then, we hit that at full speed. Will we clear it?’
‘The one on the right offers the best chance. There’ll be an air-pocket at the bottom, but with any luck we shan’t lose our cushion. We will at the top, of course, but with the momentum we shall have we should skid over comfortably.’ He shook his head. ‘Not comfortably. But over.’
‘Which way are the clouds moving?’
‘Inshore. And slowly. That’s a good one, above that small island. Ten minutes, I should think.’
It seemed to be longer than that before the cloud’s edges trailed across the moon, and the scene darkened. Andrew went first, leaping for a dark patch of frozen mud. The noise of impact was loud in his ears, and he crouched down, looking towards the Hovercraft. But there was no sign of movement there. Some moments later he waved his hand, and Abonitu dropped beside him. They stayed motionless, not even whispering, and then began their slow hesitant advance towards the craft. They went separately, leap-frogging each other, and pausing after each stage. Once they heard voices above them, and stopped for several minutes, until long after they had died away into the night’s silence.
The ramp beside which the Hovercraft lay was slippery with ice. Andrew moved up over the granite setts on his knees, trying to keep the steel studs of his boot from contact. Looking up, he saw that the moon would soon be clear of the cloud which hid it; already one could see its disk through the obscuring film. He glanced back and saw that Abonitu was poised for his boarding attempt. He himself was near enough to being in position. It would be better to leave the rest until Abonitu had attracted the guard’s attention; continuing up the ramp before that might make him conspicuous. He waved his hand. Abonitu waved back and, in the same moment, heaved himself up towards the rim of the craft. He hung there briefly and disappeared inside. There was a faint clang of metal. After that, more evident noises, as of someone getting up, moving around. From the fore section, Andrew heard footsteps, the guard’s voice asking something. He moved, as rapidly and noiselessly as was possible, up the ramp until he was above the level of the Hovercraft and he could look down into it.
There was a gap of perhaps four feet between ramp and craft; not a difficult jump, but unpleasant enough in these conditions and with a downward drop of five or six feet into the bargain. It would get no better by being looked at. He heard voices, Abonitu’s and the guard’s, and jumped quickly. As he landed, he stumbled, but recovered himself. He ran for the controls, heedless of the noise he made. The guard’s voice shouted something, and there was an answering shout from one of the detachment on the front. A figure began to struggle out of blankets in his path; he kicked it viciously. There was a howl of pain; and he had reached the controls.
The engines coughed once and then came to life. He slipped her straight into reverse, praying that the steering controls had not been altered since he had brought her in the previous afternoon, and that she would retrace the arc of entry. Above the noise he heard the sound of a shot, and then another. The Hovercraft came clear of the ramp and wheeled out, beautifully, into the harbour. Andrew stopped her about fifty yards from the harbour wall, in preparation for putting her forward. In the moment of stillness, he saw a couple of figures, clearly Guernseymen, running towards him. One of them had a rifle, but seemed too confused to use it. He kicked the lever forward, and opened up to the full. As the craft moved, with violent, tearing power, they both fell. There were more shots now from the shore, and a shot nearer at hand, from the after section of the Hovercraft.
Andrew saw the beached ships ahead. The one he had decided to scale looked different from here, presenting an impossible angle, and his determination wavered. There was a gap between the other two ships, which might be wide enough … One of the two men was beginning to get up from the deck. Andrew made up his mind to go through with the original plan; at least the shock would be likely to throw them off balance again. He steered for the steel bulk in front. It widened alarmingly. As they swung into it, involuntarily, he threw an arm before his eyes.
The impact was staggering. Andrew was thrown against the control panel and felt the steering bar rip loose under his hand. The Hovercraft tilted sharply, and he thought it was turning turtle. But somehow she was riding over the ship, with a scream of engines and compressed air. There was a second shock, followed by startling freedom, and he realized she had cleared the obstacle and was, briefly, airborne on the other side. He was dazed, but sufficiently aware of what was happening to cut the engines. The third shock, even more bone-shaking than the others, came as the Hovercraft hit groun
d on the other side. She skidded, bounced, lifted, and slammed down again. This time she was still.
The silence rang in his ears. He had fallen, despite having braced himself, against the controls again, and his shoulder hurt abominably. But the only thing that mattered was whether the crash landing had damaged the jets. He went about the business of switching on slowly, with a kind of reluctance, afraid of learning the worst. But the engines picked up at once, and in a moment he felt the familiar shudder of vibration as the Hovercraft lifted on her cushion of air. He pressed the lever forward, and she moved. There was clear moonlight, but he put the headlights on all the same. Spray swished high on either side as she reached the line of the advancing tide.
Abonitu came up to him as they moved out of the harbour mouth. He said:
‘Very good, Andrew. But I would not like to do it twice.’
‘Is the rest under control?’
‘We’ve disarmed them. One of them is unconscious. He hit his head on the deck when we jumped. Do you want to be relieved now?’
‘Yes.’ He killed the engines again, and the craft settled down, rocking on a slight swell. The usual driver came up at Abonitu’s beckoning, and Andrew moved out of the control seat. ‘Are we going after the others tonight?’
‘I am not sure.’ Abonitu spoke, Andrew noticed, with automatic authority, in a way he had not done before. ‘We need to stand far enough off these islands. The Governor is capable of sending his fleet out after us.’
‘Does that thought worry you?’
‘From now on, I take no unnecessary risks.’ To the driver, he said: ‘North at fifteen knots providing all is clear.’ He looked out across the moonlit channel between Guernsey and Herm; reefs stood up, jagged and silvered, in the moonlight. ‘Five knots till you clear this channel.’ He put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. ‘Let us see to our prisoners, Andrew.’
They were herded together in the after part, with five of the Africans pointing weapons at them. Abonitu said decisively:
‘Ali and Kipuni, maintain your guard. The rest of you throw these men overboard.’ One of the Guernseymen began to say something, but Abonitu cut across his words: ‘I do this to save bullets. You are lucky. It is a short swim back to shore. Perhaps your Governor will give you a drink of his whisky when you get there.’
One of the men, a small swarthy man, said:
‘You don’t need to throw us. We’ll jump.’
Abonitu said indifferently: ‘Jump, then.’
The swarthy man pulled boots and outer clothes off, climbed up the bulwark, balanced for a moment, and jumped. They saw his head break water and saw him strike out towards the shore. One by one, the others followed suit. The third man hesitated longer than the previous two, and one of the Africans reached up with his automatic and prodded him into leaping. Their heads bobbed away on the tide; one of them, treading water, turned to hurl some indistinguished curses. There was only the unconscious man left, slumped against the bulkhead, breathing noisily.
Abonitu prodded him with his foot.
‘He will need help.’
Andrew said: ‘Are you throwing him over like that?’
‘Why not? He will have a longer swim if we leave him.’ He grinned, his teeth white in the moonlight. ‘Perhaps the water is cool enough to bring him round.’
He was lifted and manhandled over the side. His body slid into the water. Andrew watched, but he did not see him come up. To the others, Abonitu said:
‘You can dismiss now. Ali and Kipuni, you stay on look-out. The rest can get some sleep.’
Andrew and Abonitu were left alone. Abonitu said:
‘You handled things well, Andrew. Both in the breakout and back there, on the island. There was nothing I could do, of course. I had to leave things to you.’
Andrew was silent, waiting for Abonitu to go on. The praise had been more deliberate than patronizing, and he felt that something lay behind it. Abonitu made a small movement, and Andrew thought he might be going to repeat the gesture of putting a hand on his shoulder; but he did not.
Abonitu said: ‘These others’ – he jerked a thumb forward – ‘they have little idea what happened. They were scared. They are pleased to have come out safely. I do not think they grasped the point.’
‘What point?’
‘To be frank, that matters hinged on you – on the fact that you were white and that the Governor assumed you were in charge of our party.’
Andrew nodded. ‘I suppose not.’
‘I think it will be better, Andrew, if they continue not grasping it. And also the others in the expedition, when we find them again.’
Andrew smiled. ‘I see. Bad for morale?’
Abonitu’s face was serious. ‘Yes. And bad for you, too. There are resentments, and this was white man’s territory.’
‘Back there,’ Andrew said, ‘it still is. All right. What’s the story?’
‘Simply that we escaped during the night and got back to the Hovercraft.’
‘That’s very simple. I can remember that. Don’t I get a medal for backing you up?’
In the half light, the bespectacled face peered solemnly at his. ‘You are not resentful yourself, about this?’
‘No. It just seems a little silly.’
‘I assure you it isn’t. I know my people better than you do.’ Andrew started to say something, but held back before the words were uttered. Abonitu went on: ‘You think they behaved badly back there? I do, too. Perhaps I can do something about that. You can do nothing. They will not accept anything from you: advice, censure, example – anything. Remember that.’
Andrew said: ‘I’d be interested to know what you think you can do about their behaving badly. At present I don’t rate our chances high in the next tight spot.’
‘Something can be done, I believe.’ His face had a tight withdrawn look. ‘I cannot talk about it now.’
They cruised on at low speed through the night, encountering no mist, nor any other hazard. It was about six o’clock that the look-out reported flashes of light on the starboard bow. Swinging that way, it was soon possible to recognize the headlights of the rest of the squadron, spread out in a line that covered several miles. They approached, were called into line, and the squadron continued on its way. They saw the coast of England as dawn broke.
The squadron did not head for the shore then, but bore eastwards on a line parallel to it. The fuel dump for which they were heading was near Southampton and Andrew supposed that Mutalli had decided, the sea being calm and visibility good, to continue there before striking inland.
This was what happened. But the great estuary of the Solent, when they reached it, was choked with masses of ice, and they had to continue round the Isle of Wight. They saw no sign of life on shore. Towards Portsmouth it was possible to beach the Hovercraft: a shelf of ice stretched out to sea, but the high tide was washing over it, facilitating their passage.
Carlow and Prentice, Andrew knew, were in Mutalli’s craft, with the purpose of guiding the squadron in to the fuel dump. There were several checks, and two or three false starts. But before midday they had reached the place: a low-lying windowless concrete block, its bleak outline softened by drifted snow. The squadron halted there.
The building was entered by a massive steel door. As they approached, it could be seen that this was swinging loose on rusted hinges – clearly at some time it had been dynamited to force an entry. There was a murmur of dismay as the significance of this penetrated: fuel, it was accepted, was the master key to the expedition’s effectiveness. They hung back, staring at the gaping doorway.
It was Abonitu who pushed his way through and entered the door. He disappeared into the darkness of the interior, and they were silent, watching and waiting for his return. When he did, he was staggering under the weight of a metal drum.
‘O.K.,’ he said. ‘Maybe they were looking for something else. Food, maybe. Anyway, the fuel is here, and untouched.’
There was a roar of relief and excit
ement. As Abonitu set the drum down in the snow, Mutalli rushed up and embraced him. Then he turned to the others.
‘Everything’s fine,’ he shouted. ‘Now we have dinner!’
2
They gathered, as usual, round the stoves, where the cooks were preparing the meal. Mutalli said to Abonitu:
‘Now, you can tell us what happened to you.’
Abonitu said: ‘First thing: the guard is not sufficient and not sufficiently alert.’
Three guards had been set, but they were paying more attention to what was going on at the stoves than to the outside world. Mutalli shrugged.
‘We are safe enough here.’
‘That was a mistake we made,’ Abonitu said. ‘They should be doubled, and they should be made to keep better watch.’
He spoke quietly, but with firm confidence. The bigger man looked at him for a moment, and nodded. He called to another African:
‘Zaki! Double the guard, and keep them to it. Now, go on.’
Abonitu told it calmly and well, first stressing that the loss of contact with the main body had been due to the failure by the crews of the other Hovercraft to keep a rearward watch. He described the occurrences on Guernsey as he had told Andrew he would, simply saying that he and Andrew had been taken as hostages, that they had broken loose in the night and made their way back to their craft, and assuming, without actually putting it in words, his own as the lion’s part in the undertaking. His account was listened to intently, punctuated by roars of approval which came, Andrew noticed, from the remainder of the crew of their Hovercraft as well as from the others. At the end there was a shout, a howl almost, of applause.
Mutalli said: ‘Good job! Things work out lucky for us. Everything goes well.’
‘Lucky that time,’ Abonitu said. ‘Next time, maybe not.’
‘When you get lucky,’ Mutalli said, ‘you stay lucky. We’re O.K.’
‘Some things we have to do,’ Abonitu said. He had raised his voice slightly, and the hum all round dropped to an attentive silence. ‘Otherwise we won’t stay lucky for long.’