Gold From Crete (17 page)

August shifted into September. Still the bombers roared overhead on their way to raid London, and still they came limping back in diminished numbers. The days were growing shorter, the nights longer. And Schuylenboeck still waited, imperturbable, for his opportunity, whatever that opportunity might be; his gesture towards his breast pocket where lay his pencil had by now become quite habitual to him.

It was Colonel Rucker’s engineer regiment, the 79th Pioneers, which was allotted to the
Lek II
’s tow. Colonel Rucker was one of those fierce, conscientious soldiers with an infinity of training who have helped to make the German army what it is. The Nazis have worked out a system which puts the engineer regiments in the forefront of the battle; the way to every victory is cleared by the pioneers. Rucker was the man who had first set foot in Eben Emael and struck the first blow in the campaign which was to carry the Germans from the Rhine to the Pyrenees. The lines on his face made him look older than his thirty-eight years, and if one looked closely at his shorn head one could see plenty of grey hairs, but he still carried himself with a spring and an elasticity which would have been a credit to a boy of half his years. The 79th Pioneers, hard-bitten veterans, all of them, were waiting for their chance to head the landing force that would march on London just as they had marched on Paris. In those early weeks of the war against England, left single-handed, there was no doubt in their minds that the enterprise would succeed, just as every other enterprise had succeeded up to that time; the disappointments for the German army still lay in the future.

That September day the orders came through early in the morning, and the German army came pouring out from its billets and its barracks, and marching in from the outlying suburbs with the regularity to be expected of a disciplined army after a dozen rehearsals. The motor vehicles came roaring along the quay and down the ramps laid down for them - five armoured cars and five light tanks, one for each of the ten lighters in the
Lek II
’s train. Simultaneously came the 79th Pioneers, marching swiftly in column of threes and taking their places in the lighters in mechanical obedience to the unhurried orders of the non-commissioned officers.

Colonel Rucker and the regimental headquarters took their places in the leading lighter; Rucker was aware that it would be more dignified for him to stand on the bridge of the tug, but the
Lek II
drew far more water than the lighters, and it was the lighters that would run ashore under their own impetus after the tug had cast them off. On board the
Lek II
there came only Krauss, the assistant signalling officer, and a couple of privates, ready to receive any communication which Colonel Rucker might see fit to make.

As the last man stepped aboard, the warps were cast off, and Schuylenboeck, with a last glance round him from the bridge, rang down for slow speed ahead. With infinite slowness, lest a sudden jerk should snap the tow ropes, the tow was under way, circled and headed for the harbour mouth; even as it moved, fresh barges were being warped into their places and fresh troops were marching down onto the quay, ready to embark. Still moving slowly, the
Lek II
and her lumbering train passed out into the open sea, almost glass smooth, and with a dim sun looking down upon it. Overhead at that moment there passed a vast diamond of bombers, the fighter escort so tiny as almost to be lost in the faint haze, heading for England. The war in the air was being fought out to its climax while war on land was still in rehearsal.

‘A nice calm day,’ said Lieutenant Krauss benignly. The slightest lop on the water, even such as would not prevent the unseaworthy barges from carrying out their exercises, was enough to make him seasick and miserable.

‘A beautiful day,’ agreed Schuylenboeck heartily.

He looked up at the dim sun and at the haze-shrouded horizon, and then hastily, in fear lest even that gesture should have betrayed his thoughts, at the rest of the barges jockeying their way out of the harbour. And lest he had betrayed himself, he felt in his pocket for the reassurance of his pencil. He knew much more about the Narrow Seas than did Lieutenant Krauss; he knew what kind of weather that glassy sea and indistinct horizon portended. Right ahead, for that matter, he was almost sure he could see a hint of the fogbank he was hoping for.

Despite Colonel Potthoff’s complaints, it still took a most unconscionable time for the whole flotilla to get clear of the harbour mouth and the minefields beyond. The
Lek II
chugged slowly ahead while the rest of the flotilla emerged and took up its formation; in that formation the
Lek II
was still destined to be ahead for the 79th Pioneers to make the first landing. But time today was not of so much importance, for when the embarkation rehearsal was completed, the force was destined to turn leisurely about - and with that agglomerate mass of barges every tiny movement had to be leisurely - and return to the shore after nightfall to practise a night landing. Slowly the flotilla headed out to sea, until almost beyond the protection of the heavy shore batteries. Farther ahead still were to be seen the dim shapes of the light cruiser and the half-flotilla of destroyers which guarded against some unforeseen eruption of the British light forces. Dimmer and dimmer grew those shapes; soon a little wreath of fog, twisting sluggishly over the water, came athwart the
Lek II
’s bows and was cut by them into halves. There was no heat to the pale sun now; within a few minutes there was no sun to be seen, and the destroyer screen on the horizon was entirely invisible.

One of the privates on the bridge beside Krauss and Schuylenboeck suddenly called attention to the tow; a signaller in the leading barge was sending a message by semaphore, and Krauss read it off with the ease of long practice. ‘We are to go back without carrying out the night landing,’ said Krauss, and Schuylenboeck nodded ponderously and rang down for full speed ahead.

‘What are you doing that for?’ asked Krauss curiously, noting the quickened beat of the propeller.

‘It is necessary to go faster in order to lead round on the curve,’ explained Schuylenboeck without emotion.

Further wreaths of fog were curling past them now, and a moment later they had reached the fogbank. From the bridge of the
Lek II
it was impossible to see even the bows of the tug. The people in the barges would not be able to see the tug ahead or the barge behind. Schuylenboeck gave a slight alteration of course to the man at the wheel, and five minutes later a much larger one in the opposite direction. That was sufficient to put confusion into Krauss’ mind, and possibly into the helmsman’s. They were headed for England now by the shortest route, but only Schuylenboeck was aware of it; he had no intention at all, and never had, of taking any of the crew into his confidence. When one lives under Nazi rule one takes no one into one’s confidence.

The fog was clammy and chill; Krauss began to pace the little bridge to keep himself warm; after the beautiful weather of August 1940, he was a little susceptible to cold. But Schuylenboeck stood there unmoving, his hand, in its characteristic attitude, resting over his inside breast pocket. He was aware of the importance of showing no sign of nervousness.

Then, just ahead, a slightly more solid nucleus of the grey fog flicked past the
Lek II
’s bows; it was come and gone in a flash, but Schuylenboeck felt the
Lek II
pitch a little under his feet as she met the resultant wash. That was one of the German destroyers, and they were through the screen now, with nothing hostile between them and England, unless some dreadful coincidence - Schuylenboeck felt for his pencil again - should guide them into contact with a lurking U-boat. Schuylenboeck ordered another small alteration of course, kept to it for half an hour, and then, to anticipate Krauss’ inevitable restlessness, he bellowed an order forward for a hand to go to work with the lead. That would look as if he were expecting to approach the shore at any moment, and the five fathoms which the leadsman got was, as he had anticipated, the tail of the Camelbank. Schuylenboeck discontinued the heaving of the lead immediately; he did not want deep water reported.

Half an hour more of this. That was the utmost limit of time he dared to allow himself. Krauss was restless by now, and far back in the fog he could guess that Colonel Rucker was also growing restless. They ought to have made the harbour mouth an hour back. It was fortunate that, having started at the head of the procession, they would return at the tail, so that there was nothing very surprising about their having seen nothing of the other tows; and Schuylenboeck, ponderously working out a psychological problem, could guess that Rucker, with his vast experience of war and of the confusion resulting even in a well- drilled army like the German at an unexpected change of conditions, would expect a certain amount of delay, and would rely, in his disciplined German fashion, on the judgement of the man on the spot.

Schuylenboeck nerved himself to speak; it was one thing to be his usual ponderous self and quite another to have to say words like an actor.

‘I shall have to send a radio call,’ he said to Krauss. ‘Then I can pick up my bearings with the direction finder.’

‘Very good,’ said Krauss. Schuylenboeck’s blue eyes noted the fact that Krauss was nervous, but not yet suspicious. What he was afraid of was the minefields, and the possibility of bumping into the breakwater or running down another tow. Schuylenboeck scribbled the message on the pad and handed it to Joris Hohlwerff in the little radio room beside the chart- room. He had no knowledge at all as to whether young Joris was a willing cooperator or not. ‘Cooperator’ in the conquered countries has the special meaning of a man who has taken the German side. If he had been sure that Joris was not one, Schuylenboeck might have sent a very different message, but under Nazi rule one is sure of nothing. The hiss and crackle of the transmission showed that Joris was dispatching the message, and the British kept a ceaseless wireless watch, and they had direction finders as well.

A precious ten minutes passed - another mile nearer England - before Joris came out with the reply sent out by a puzzled German station.

‘Repeat my message,’ ordered Schuylenboeck. He met Joris’ eyes with a stony stare, and Joris’ stare was just as stony. Neither of these men knew anything at all about what was passing in the other’s mind. But the transmission hissed and crackled. The British navy must be picking up those waves.

Far out here in the North Sea there was a perceptible movement of the water. The
Lek II
was positively lively and the lighters astern must be lurching disgustingly. Schuylenboeck hoped that Rucker would be too sick to be suspicious. It was twenty minutes now since the first wireless message. Any British destroyer taking it in ten miles away could be here by now to investigate. To convey an attitude of activity, Schuylenboeck began ringing down messages to the engine room for half speed, for slow speed ahead, for half speed again. Lieutenant Krauss, beside him, marvelled at the assurance of this experienced tug master who could bring a great tow into port with such a sureness of touch in a fog that limited visibility to twenty yards. Krauss still had not the least idea that he was forty miles out in the North Sea instead of being at the entrance to Flushing.

Joris, his face as expressionless as before, brought out on the pad a most indignant message. This time it was from an admiral. He simply could not understand what had come over the
Lek II
, and demanded that she turn about and come home at once by the aid of directional wireless. Schuylenboeck wrote out the longest message of apology that he could think of and suggested that the cause of it all was compass failure. He would, of course, obey orders immediately. That would gain time, would continue to help the British navy in its search, and would postpone any dispatch of German destroyers in pursuit. The fastest German destroyer, leaving immediately, would not be up to them for more than an hour. Schuylenboeck quitted his hold on his poison pencil long enough to look at his watch, while Joris sent his reply, and then, at his captain’s order, repeated it for good measure. Then at last it happened, the appearance of a vague shape through the mist and a bellowed challenge through a megaphone. The words spoken were English, but Schuylenboeck had schooled himself for so long to be without emotion that he felt no relief, standing still while Krauss leaped excitedly to the rail to stare at the menacing grey silhouette. The destroyer, her gun trained, rolled heavily in the swell almost on top of the
Lek II
.

‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded the English voice again, irritation and curiosity intermingled in its tone.

‘Dutch tug
Lek Two
!’ roared Schuylenboeck back.

The relative motions of the ships carried them past each other, although Schuylenboeck had rung down immediately to stop the engines. So close were they that Schuylenboeck could hear the words being spoken on the destroyer’s deck, and the exclamation of surprise as the English sighted the first of the lighters in tow.

From Colonel Rucker’s lighter there came a sudden splutter of machine-gun fire. Rucker was a quick thinker, had recognized the English destroyer for what she was, and had put his men’s guns into action. But it did not last long, because the British ship’s guns made instant reply. Fifty-pound shells at point-blank range tore into the fragile barge, and it broke in the centre. Colonel Rucker and the leading half-company of the 79th Pioneers met their end there in the mist-shrouded water. The rest of the regiment surrendered - nine lighters, nine hundred men fully equipped for the invasion of England, five light tanks and four armoured cars.

‘That was a good show,’ said the lieutenant-commander to Schuylenboeck, as they sat down in the tiny cabin abaft the destroyer’s bridge.

Schuylenboeck sat down heavily. He could not throw off all in a minute the forced immobility of expression which he had added to his natural immobility. He could not even show relief; he could not even drop the old gesture of fumbling with his pencil in his breast pocket. A thought struck him; for the sake of something to do while searching for words, he took the pencil out. He would not need the poison now. With his thick fingers he pried the eraser out of its thin metal holder. The two little pills did not roll out, not even when he tapped the pencil. He peered into the holder and it was empty. For a long time now - how long he could never know - he had been clinging to the wrong pencil.