Three

On the bridge deck of HMS Leopard, General Hodges stood alongside Admiral Downes and stared through the naval binoculars which a silent commander had passed over to him.

The rain, which had fallen intermittently all day, had stopped at last and the air felt suddenly fresher. The sea was calmer, too, with only a slight swell now and a light wind. It was a still night with stars that glowed brightly through the gaps in the clouds beyond the pitch-black angularity of the ship’s superstructure. There seemed to be no sound in the whole fleet except the throb of engines and the hiss of water, and even these sounds seemed blotted out, too, so that only murmured conversations reached up to the bridge deck and the pale moonlight accentuated the darkness beyond its reach.

In the distance, across the black sea, Hodges could see a faint glow appearing and disappearing across the sky, almost like the beam swinging round a radar screen, coming over an edge of purple that ran along the horizon.

‘The shadow’s Poro Island,’ Downes said. ‘The light’s King Boffa Light. It lies ten miles outside the entrance to the harbour, on Locco Island. That’s just beyond Poro, so that places us roughly forty miles from King Boffa Port. In three hours from now, we shall be in position for the run-in.’

‘And in Khanzian territorial waters?’

‘Well inside. We’ll be committed.’

Hodges said nothing and stared at the light again. In spite of the warm night, he felt chilled, almost as though a dose of malaria were creeping up on him. These silent final hours had their own unnatural quality. Below him somewhere, a tin mug clattered in the darkness and he heard a muttered oath. It seemed unreal to Hodges. The arguments, the endless training, the excitement were over, but he was still bowed under the accumulation of too many depressing problems.

He was where a real soldier ought to be, ready to command troops in battle, and in the cabin under the ship’s bridge, messages would soon begin to arrive asking for help of various kinds, to which he would have to give immediate decisions.

He felt no joy at the thought, however, because of the harsh sounding of a subconscious alarm that things were desperately wrong with his command.

He’d never been a man to suffer fear much, and he’d never felt overmuch anxiety as an officer at ordering men to their deaths. He had long since accepted this as part of his job, and as a young officer had felt no resentment against those superiors who had ordered him into situations which could have resulted in his own death.

He knew he probably had the deaths of many men on his conscience, but he’d always felt they’d been justified by the circumstances because his country had been at war and it had been a case of other men’s deaths or the deaths of his own men. He’d not suffered from remorse.

Now, however, it was different and he was full of dread. Black men all over Africa, turning at last from white man’s rule, were resenting any suggestion of hostility towards them. For years, long after everyone else had forgotten it, they had kept the chip on their shoulders about their black skins, and they were no longer prepared even to talk to white men who were willing to invade their territory. Only a humiliating climbdown could prevent a calamitous upheaval over the whole continent, and Hodges wasn’t sure that humiliation wasn’t better than a vast bloodbath.

It was this that chilled him. Radio activity from ashore had revealed that volunteers from other African states had started to cross the Khanzian border on the invitation of Colonel Scepwe. There was still a pretence that they were there to conduct exercises on Khanzian soil, but this was no worse than the pretence he himself had maintained that Hodgeforce was carrying out exercises with the Malalan forces, and it was really only a loophole that had been left for the European and American politicians. The volunteers could finish their exercises and go home at any time anyone wished.

African diplomats from all over the continent were also heading for Nairobi and Hodges knew that this could be the end of white men in Africa, because although with independence, Africans had still accepted them, any attempt to invade Africa by Europeans would mean the operation of apartheid in an opposite direction. There were signs that it was going to affect India and Asia, too. The white man could be forced right back to Europe. Whether or not the fighting escalated into a major conflict, it could have disastrous consequences for the world, morally, politically and financially.

‘Hello!’ Downes’ exclamation jerked Hodges out of his thoughts and he swung round and followed the sailor’s pointing finger. The leading ship on the port bow had put on speed and was moving up closer to Leopard.

‘That’s Uhuru,’ Downes said. ‘What the hell are they up to?’

‘Admiral’ – the commander spoke from the back of the bridge – ‘the Khanzian flagship’s signalling.’

There was the clatter of Morse from the cabin just abaft the bridge, and a signal lieutenant-commander appeared with a message form in his hand.

‘From Uhuru, sir.’

Downes took the signal and handed it to Hodges.

‘COMEMFO to COMHOJ,’ it read. ‘EMFORCE ordered to return Pepul at once.’

There was no explanation, no apologies, not even any good luck wishes. They had been expecting it for some time but it came as a shock nevertheless.

Hodges turned and showed the signal to Downes. ‘The Malalans are breaking off the operation,’ he said.

As he flipped the sheet of paper with his forefinger and turned to watch the convoy, Downes halted the signals officer.

‘Make a signal to all British ships,’ he said. ‘Close up and continue the same course.’

He swung round on Hodges. ‘Do you want to talk to Aswana?’ he asked.

Hodges shrugged. ‘What’s the point?’ he asked. ‘He won’t know any more than his orders. We’ll have to leave it to the politicians to ask why.’

The starboard column of ships was now turning slowly outwards, following Uhuru which, after dropping back into position, was swinging slowly away. One after the other they turned, heading due west, then suddenly their navigation lights came on and they swung round once more away from the darkened convoy, and began to head north again.

‘You know what that means, don’t you?’ Hodges said. ‘Whatever happens, we shan’t be going back to Pepul.’

‘That’ll be jolly,’ Downes said grimly. ‘Because if we don’t go to King Boffa Port and take on water and supplies, it’s going to make things just a little tight. We could make it to Gib from here without a stop, but only just.’

‘So far,’ Hodges pointed out, ‘there’s no suggestion that we do anything else but what we are doing.’

Downes glanced at him. ‘Surely to God,’ he said, unexpectedly bitter, ‘those bloody fools at home won’t expect us to go ahead on our own now.’

Hodges shrugged. He had long since given up thinking about what the people at home, in their massive demonstration of brinkmanship, would do.

‘Sir’ – the signalman appeared again – ‘newsflash.’

The loudspeaker came to life with the voice of a BBC announcer in mid-sentence.

‘…Malalan Government. It has been decided in Machingo to accede to the United Nations’ request that any contemplated aggressive action against the Khanzian base of King Boffa Port should be dropped at once pending discussions. A meeting is to be held and it is reported from Machingo that a signal has gone out to the Malalan Fleet, which is at the moment at sea south of the Equator conducting exercises with the Royal Navy.’

There was a pause, then light music started again and was stopped at once as the radio room switched off.

‘The bastards have tossed the ball into our court,’ Downes said.

Hodges stared ahead, noticing that it had started to rain again. It felt cold and sharp against his face, and it seemed to shake him out of his unhappiness. He turned briskly to Downes.

‘What would happen, Dennis, if we stopped the convoy here, and waited a while?’

Downes stared at him. ‘Are you thinking of that, Horace?’

‘I’m not considering anything at this particular moment. It’s purely a hypothetical question.’

Downes considered for a moment. ‘It would mean that the whole operation would fall flat on its face,’ he said. ‘If Stabledoor’s to have the remotest chance of success, we have to be off King Boffa Port before daylight tomorrow morning. We shall be inside territorial waters very shortly, and off King Boffa Port in about three and a half hours. We’ve either got to go on or get the hell out of it. If we stop here, we’re bound to be spotted tomorrow and it’ll take a bit of doing to explain what a fleet of a hundred-odd ships is doing just outside King Boffa, armed to the teeth.’

Hodges moved across the bridge and stared towards the distant glow which was already noticeably brighter.

‘We’ll continue on this course,’ he said, ‘but I’d be glad if you’d let me know before we enter Khanzian waters.’

Downes studied his face but said nothing, and Hodges endeavoured to explain the way he was thinking.

‘I’m considering the possibility,’ he said, ‘of turning us round. Now that Aswana’s gone, you’re my deputy and you’ve a right to know. Particularly since, if I do decide this way, I should be refusing to follow instructions, and you would probably wish to take over.’

Downes stared at him with a drawn face and Hodges went on calmly.

‘That, of course, would be throwing the ball into your court, Dennis, and you’d be in an appalling position. It’s only fair to say I haven’t yet decided that way.’

‘Thank God for that,’ Downes said in a low voice.

 

Below decks, the troops had lapsed into a glum silence. Everyone knew the Malalan ships had turned away and, although the BBC newsflash had not been relayed over the ship’s system, it hadn’t taken long for it to be passed round the fleet. Radio operators on every ship had picked it up and whispered conversations in the darkened alleyways had been sufficient to see that it spread to every man on board.

Captain White looked at Sergeant Frensham. ‘That sets us up as Aunt Sally,’ he said laconically.

Frensham frowned. ‘What’s going to happen now, sir?’ he asked.

White shrugged. ‘God knows,’ he said. ‘I wish I did. We haven’t changed course so it looks very much to me as though they’re going to chance it.’

Frensham’s eyes glittered. Like every officer and senior NCO on board Banff he knew the precautions that had been taken to prevent mutiny. White had taken him into his confidence and Frensham had watched the squads of puzzled Guardsmen and Marines move quietly into position about the ship, not knowing the reason for the change. There had been a lot of grumbling among them because the last-minute moves had disrupted their plans for disembarkation and they knew, as well as any officer, that the result when the time for landing arrived would be chaos. With every disembarkation route through the ship plotted to avoid confusion, units – even supposing the landing went unopposed – would find themselves crossing the paths of other units or even having to force their way into position against the flow of troops heading for the ship’s sides. Men had been separated from their heavy equipment and even from their officers, and they all suspected they were going to find themselves on a hostile shore without leadership or the things they needed.

The shifting of the small armed squads had been watched with suspicion by the men of the county regiments it was designed to curb, and Frensham had been quick to note the muttering and the groups of men with their heads together. Even as it had been going on, he had expected trouble in the shape of a scuffle or a sudden move to overpower the small sections taking up their positions at vantage points. The stationing of officers near the keyboards and magazines had not gone unnoticed, he knew, while the clearing of the revolver racks from outside the wardroom had been duly reported, he was certain, by the wardroom stewards. Frensham had been twenty years in the Army and had served through more than one military mistake, and what he saw around him on board Banff filled him with horror, especially with the people at home still insisting, in the teeth of the facts, on the operation being carried through.

‘Makes you feel bolshie, sir, don’t it?’ he said to White. ‘If they tell me to go in, I’ll go, but, by God, sir, I’m beginning to think the same way as them lads in the cells.’

To the men in the cells, the news had come via a disgusted Sergeant O’Mara.

‘Well, that does it, brothers,’ Leach said. ‘That makes us spot ball. They haven’t recalled us, I notice.’

Ginger Bowen listened to the low-pitched conversation glumly. He was still suffering from resentment that he was under lock and key through no fault of his own, and the look in his eye as he stared at Leach was full of bitter dislike that was rapidly boiling up to the point of physical action.

‘They’ll never get the blokes out of the ships,’ Leach was saying. ‘They’ll never go.’

‘They’ll never even get the Guards out now,’ Wedderburn agreed. ‘They’ll soon know what’s in the wind.’

‘Guardsmen don’t know anything,’ Snaith said dryly. ‘Guardsmen don’t think. The officers wind ’em up and off they go like clockwork.’

‘But, Christ, brother’ – Leach was noisily indignant – ‘they can’t expect men to lay down their lives for their mates against odds.’

Ginger’s dislike came out in a low bitter growl that stopped the conversation dead in its tracks.

‘You’d never throw down your life for your mate,’ he said. ‘Your wife, yes, but not your life. In any case, you’re under arrest and, thanks to you, old Jesus-Joseph Malaki’s got a hole in the guts big enough to drive a bus through.’

‘Serve him right,’ Leach said. ‘He should have stuck with us. I expect the black bastard got cold feet.’

Ginger turned slowly, his face full of menace as his fists clenched and unclenched. All his resentment at his incarceration boiled up with his dislike of Leach.

‘I shouldn’t be ’ere,’ he said slowly. ‘By rights I shouldn’t be ’ere. And I’m blaming it directly on you, Leach. So you just say one more word about Joe Malaki – or me – or anybody else – that’s all, and I’ll come across there and ram it straight down your throat. Even if they hang me by the short hairs from the yardarm. OK?’

It was a long speech for Ginger and Leach looked up, his expression changing from startled amazement at the bitter words to sullenness. Wedderburn, McKechnie and Snaith were watching him carefully, waiting for his retort, but for once Leach had none. He looked quickly at them, and then again at Ginger, and then he rolled over on the iron bunk and stuck his hands silently in his pockets.

 

On the bridge of Leopard, Downes turned to General Hodges.

‘We’re now five miles outside Khanzian territorial waters, Horace,’ he said quietly. ‘If you’re going to do anything, now’s the time to do it.’

Hodges turned his head, slowly, almost as though he were sleepwalking.

So the moment had come at last when he had to make his decision. There was no longer any time to equivocate or delay. He knew what Downes meant. With a fleet the size of that moving along silently behind them, they needed room to manoeuvre, and he couldn’t any longer hold back his decision.

‘How long have I got?’ he asked.

‘Ten minutes,’ Downes said. ‘Half an hour from now the aircraft take off.’

‘Give me that long.’

‘There’s one more thing.’

‘Go on.’

‘Radar shows that there are at least five unknown ships following us now, all small, all the size of submarines, and one larger one, the Chorniye Kazach, which has been with us all the time. We’ve also had a signal from the DNI that there are others believed to be within ten miles of us.’

‘I see. Thank you. I’ll let you know.’

Downes hesitated, knowing how full Hodges’ mind must be.

‘By the way,’ he said at last, ‘you don’t seem to have noticed, but this rain’s becoming rather heavy. Shouldn’t you go below?’

‘No.’ Hodges managed a smile. ‘It feels fresh and clean, and I don’t.’

‘Would you like an oilskin? I’ll have one sent up.’

‘Don’t bother, Dennis. I shan’t be brooding much longer.’

Downes nodded then, realising Hodges’ need to think, moved to the other end of the bridge.

Hodges put his empty pipe in his mouth and chewed at the stem in the darkness, feeling desperately alone and friendless. He had been hoping and praying for hours that someone in England would come to his senses and turn the convoy round before he, himself, was forced to make a decision one way or the other. Whatever he decided in the next ten minutes, he couldn’t imagine it would look right in history. Across the intervening years, he had a feeling that people would tend to judge the general in command rather than the politicians who had placed him in such a private hell.

He thought of the men below decks and the arrangements that had been made to see that they disembarked at the right time when ordered. Even that problem seemed to have grown out of all proportion. Mutiny or no mutiny, he couldn’t honestly be expected to order them ashore with the force abruptly halved. It wasn’t even fair to the brave men who had not raised any protest. With his mind stiff with anxiety, to Hodges there wasn’t the faintest hope now of Stabledoor succeeding. All reports showed that the Khanzians were not only ready for them, with every black man in Africa firmly behind them, but that they had been more prepared than anyone in England had ever dreamed when they had rushed so hastily into the decision to launch the operation. It seemed impossible to him that the people back in Westminster, even engrossed as they were with their ponderous political saraband, would be stupid enough to let them continue. The country was surely sick of politics and in need of government.

Below him, in the wardroom, trestle tables had been erected and the ship’s surgeon, in white overalls, with his stethoscope in his pocket and a gauze mask dangling under his chin, had laid out his instruments and bottles of blood plasma. The surgery was ready to receive casualties, and stretcher bearers were taking up their stations at vantage points through the ship. The drugs locker was unsealed and the sick-berth attendants were checking the sterilisers.

Driven into cabins out of the way, the Pressmen waited, smoking and a little edgy, aware of something happening that they knew nothing about and resentful that they hadn’t been told. So far, they hadn’t asked and Hodges had no intention of telling them anything until he had to.

He glanced at his watch. Two minutes had already gone by with futile thinking. That left eight. Eight short minutes, that could mean life or death to hundreds of men in the convoy around him, disgrace to himself, and humiliation and disaster to his country. Why was it that politicians, in the hothouse atmosphere of Westminster, obsessed with office and the niceties of Parliamentary procedure, never managed to see a soldier’s problem from a soldier’s point of view? As his mind dwelt on the subject, he began to wonder how many statesmen, having made a war, had ever shown themselves willing to support their views by going to fight in it. None in England, that he could recall, since Cromwell.

Thinking about Cromwell, his mind turned to the prayer of Sir Jacob Astley before the battle of Edgehill in 1642. He’d used it more than once in the course of his Army life, once even in orders. ‘Oh, Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me.’

It had always seemed a good soldierly prayer to utter before a battle – the sort of prayer that God would expect from a simple man, without frills or requests for special favours, and no fear of death. Hodges frowned, wishing things were as simple nowadays as they had been for Cromwell and Sir Jacob Astley.

He stopped himself abruptly again as he realised he was allowing his mind to be sidetracked into interesting hypotheses, when it should be fixed rigidly on the problem in hand. He glanced again at his watch and saw that the time at his disposal was now only seven minutes. It was amazing how fast time could go when one wanted it to run out slowly.

With the departure of the Malalans, he realised, the possibility of a third world war had abruptly receded. America and Russia might well now not trouble themselves to move their nuclear weapons and align themselves for a greater combat. Perhaps they would be prepared to sit back, contented to let the adventure end in the chaos of its own making, and allow the British statesmen to destroy themselves by their own obstinacy.

For the life of him, Hodges couldn’t see that Stabledoor had the faintest chance of success. His appeal, through the Chief of Defence Staff, for a change of mind at home had gone unanswered, and to Hodges it seemed impossible that any man could possibly turn down such a request when he knew how much depended on it. Even the appeal to the Leader of the Opposition had gone unanswered.

Considering it, Hodges realised that the Leader of the Opposition was in his own cleft stick. Any alteration in his feelings, any retraction of anything he had said, could well be taken by the rest of the world for a tacit agreement with Stabledoor, and the Leader of the Opposition had taken a stand against just this possibility, just as he was expecting to have to do within the next few minutes.

Another glance at his watch. Five minutes! The time seemed to be slipping by so fast Hodges was aghast. In the whole of his military career he couldn’t remember a single commander-in-chief who had ever made a decision such as he was now contemplating – refusing, on a point of conscience, to follow the instructions issued to him by his government. There had been cases where officers had translated them freely, but none that he knew of where generals in command had refused point blank to carry them out.

On the surface there would be no excuse. But if a man did something of which he would be ashamed for ever, could he be expected to live the rest of his life with his conscience? When the Leaders of the Light Brigade at Balaclava had been faced with a similar decision, they’d disagreed but obeyed orders, knowing full well what the consequences would be. And, although they’d ever since been regarded as fools, militarily they’d behaved correctly, because refusal to obey orders was simply reducing the Army to a state of anarchy; and not long before he, Hodges, had been taking precautions against the men of the 17th/105th doing just that very thing.

What was more, what other chain of events might he be starting by refusing to follow instructions? Although he believed he knew the facts, it could be that other greater events of which he had no knowledge hinged on his obeying orders – even if the orders appeared to be wrong and resulted in the deaths of many men. It had happened again and again between 1914 and 1918 and in his heart of hearts Hodges knew he hadn’t a leg to stand on. While he might, as the owner of a conscience, refuse to do what he was instructed, as a soldier he had no option whatsoever but to do as he was told. He had to make up his mind. The moment had come. It was no longer possible to wait.

‘Dennis…’

Downes turned towards him from his corner of the bridge as he spoke. They both looked haggard with the weight of the decision hanging over them.

‘Dennis, I’ve no option. None at all. We carry on as instructed.’

He thought he heard Downes’ breath come out in a sigh and thought he caught a subtle flicker of relief come over his face in the shadows.

‘It’s on my own responsibility,’ he explained. ‘It doesn’t involve you.’

Downes shrugged. ‘It involves me all right, Horace,’ he said. ‘And though I’m not sure just now what I think about it all, I don’t honestly think you could do differently.’

‘Thanks, Dennis. That helps.’

Downes made a little gesture with his hand ‘You’ll never be blamed by me,’ he said. ‘I’ll back you to the hilt.’ He paused and drew a deep breath. ‘And now,’ he ended, ‘I suppose we’d better do something about it, and God help us both.’

‘Sir…’

As they turned away from each other, Hodges heard the signal officer’s voice. He swung round. The signal officer was a young man, and to Hodges just then he seemed like a mere boy. Then he noticed the youngster was looking at him, not at Downes, and he crossed the bridge quickly and took the signal. It was in plain language.

‘COMCENT to COMHOJ. Hodgeforce will change direction west. Manoeuvres to be terminated at once repeat at once.’

A series of elaborate and rigid courses followed, which were obviously intended to bear out the farce that they were on exercise, and Hodges stared at the message for some time before the full import of it sank in. Then he swung round on Downes, smiling. The man on the white horse had galloped up at last.

‘Dennis,’ he said, and Downes was at his side in a second.

‘It’s the reprieve, Dennis,’ he said. ‘It’s been called off.’

Downes gazed at him, reading the relief in his face.

‘About time someone came to their senses,’ he said shortly.