A Twist Of Sand

"In that case, then," said the judicial captain levelly, "there will be a record of your briefing which will be available in your defence to substantiate what you say."

"No one else was present at the meeting," I said. "There was no record."

"You mean to tell me — " snapped the rear-admiral.

"Rubbish!"

"Even admitting it were so," said the judicial captain, "it must have been a matter of considerable secrecy for two officers of their rank to discuss it with you — in private?"

"It was," I said grimly, remembering the look in those Arctic eyes when he thought of his precious convoys and the battle-stained North Atlantic.

"What was it?" snapped the C.-in-C.

"I cannot answer that question, sir," I replied.

"My God!" he shouted. "You stand there like a schoolboy and tell me you can't say?"

There was no avoiding the blow much longer. In a moment, in a moment, I told myself, steeling myself for the inevitable.

"Not under any circumstances," I said.

That brought him up all standing.

He gave me another moment's respite.

"You mean to say that you received a secret briefing for a secret mission and that none of the usual form was observed — no record of your conversation, your orders, nothing?"

"That is correct, sir."

The judicial captain flicked through some papers at the table.

"I notice, sir," he said to the president, "that all authorisation for Trout's stores, fuel and so on are on the personal instructions of the Flag Officer (S)."

"Where were you when you made this remarkable attack — and on what?" snapped the old seadog, now thoroughly angered.

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that, sir."

"Are you prepared to answer anything at all?" he snapped sarcastically.

My moment had come.

I remembered the schoolmasterly voice and the precise muster of sentences. I remembered the compassionate, the professionally compassionate farewell. He would shake the hand of the bright boy at school when he gave him the prize in the same gentle way, probably with a slightly pedantic chiding. I imagined that he would tend the roses in his country home just like that too, and talk them over with the locals at the annual rose show. To him I was not a cypher, I was something to be wept over, but not to be mourned. He'd passed beyond ruthlessness into compassion, beyond compassion into ruthlessness. I remembered his farewell. Had he gone so far in man's barbarity to man that he no longer felt, or was it his professional manner to shield himself — what did he think deep down? It was all justified, in his view, justified because Britain was in danger… I jerked myself back. Even if I opened my mouth, he would… he'd have to… deny it all. I remembered the slight sad droop of the eyes. It was his job. He'd sold me down the river, the river of death or ignominy that bleak day at the Admiralty. We both knew the rules. He knew what he was doing, and I knew what was being done.

Here it was.

"Sir," I said, "I wish to admit all the charges against me."

"What?" roared the rear-admiral.

I think even the Wren forgot to write it down in the general sensation. The judicial captain eyed me coolly and I could see that he had made up his mind that I was certainly on my way to the madhouse. The other members of the court martial whispered between themselves. The tanned face in the middle was purple.

"The defence…" bleated my defending officer helplessly. "The defendant…"

I was almost oblivious of what was going on. I was living again the holocaust at Curva dos Dunas, the anchorage blazing and the distant thud of explosions, the one German with his hands upraised and the bloody, unrecognisable mess the Oerlikon had made of his face. The resolution never to mention or reveal Curva dos Dunas dropped crystallised, clear, inexorable, into my mind. I had done what old Arctic-eyes had sent me to do: that delicate, wing-like conning-tower would never show its deadly dorsal fin in the turbulent wastes of the North Atlantic now. Blohm and Voss would never know what had happened to her. She was a risk, an unjustifiable risk at best in the German naval mind, even before she sailed, and her non-return would set the seal on others of her kind. She had been destroyed through the knowledge old Simon Peace had given to me — and he was dead. The man who had ordered me to destroy her — he was dead. The Director of Naval Intelligence — well, his mouth would always be as closed as if death itself had sealed it. There would never be any hint at all of NP I if I kept my mouth shut.

The president, who had half-risen, seated himself again with a thump. He gazed at me for a long time. No one else said anything. I had admitted the most serious offences. There was nothing more to be said. Only to be done. And that was clear enough. They'd have to kick me out — kick me out right on the peak of my naval cap.

"The court will adjourn," said the old man savagely.