Medusa

We passed the turning to the Base and over my left shoulder there were lights on a freighter lying alongside the new quay, and beyond it, lights flashing green on the naval jetty. Then we were under the mass of Mahon itself, hammering along the waterfront past the commercial quay. There was a ferry lying there and out beyond Bloody Island I could see the dim shape of Medusa lying broadside to the town. A minute later we had rounded Punta Maritimo and Petra was bringing the car to a halt at the pontoon. I remember telling her to say something nice to Soo for me as I flung open the door and leapt out, the black, limpid water of the harbour washing lazily at the concrete of the roadway, the wooden boards of the pontoon moving under my feet. ‘You reck’n they’ll go for La Mola?’ Lennie asked as he cord-whipped the outboard into life and we nosed out past the mooring lines of a big French sloop, the bows lifting as he increased the revs, heading to pass just north of Bloody Island where the frigate’s bows were pointing towards Nelson’s Golden Farm.

I nodded, the noise too great for conversation.

‘They could just concentrate on the town, you know,’ he yelled in my ear. ‘Seize the town hall, take a crack at Military HQ and occupy the radio station. Wouldn’t that be enough?’

I shrugged, unable to answer him, thinking ahead to my meeting with Gareth. I could imagine him asking me just those questions and what the hell would I say? We passed the quick-flashing red beacon close to the dig, Lennie cutting it so fine I could see the wheelbarrows still full of the rubble we had been shifting, and then the businesslike outline of Medusa was looming nearer. ‘Which side?’ he shouted in my ear.

‘Starb’d,’ I said, and he swung in a tight arc, passing so close under the bows I thought he would smash into the anchor cable. The engine slowed, then died with a cough as he brought the inflatable alongside where the accommodation ladder had been lifted clear of the water. By then I had Petra’s big torch beamed on the bridge, flicking the switch on and off — three dots, three dashes, three dots — hoping that whoever was on watch would realise the SOS was to signify urgency, not just some drunk from the shore playing silly buggers. I could hear the hum of the ship’s machinery now, sense the power of the organisation that was in her. ‘Ahoy there. Medusa!’ I was shouting for the Officer of the Day, the Captain, anyone, my voice raised high, desperate with the need to be got on board quickly. A face under a sailor’s hat leaned out above me. ‘Wot you want?’

‘The Captain,’ I shouted up to him. ‘Tell the Captain it’s Mike Steele and it’s urgent. Every minute counts.’ A door slammed and a beam of light was directed straight at me, my eyes blinded, and a voice said, ‘Good evening, sir. You come to return that beard we lent you?’ It was young Davison, the officer-under-training, and he was grinning. ‘The Captain!’ I yelled at him again.

‘The Captain’s asleep, sir.’

‘Well, wake him up. And get me on board. I have information for him that must be transmitted to London immediately.’

He stood there for a moment, mouth agape, gazing down at me. I could see his brain working, trying to decide whether this was a joke or something deadly serious. Fortunately the beard was in my pocket, where it had been for some time now, otherwise he might have thought I was fooling. ‘Hurry, man! For God’s sake hurry!’

He nodded, suddenly seeming to pull himself together as he ordered a sailor to lower the ladder, then turned and ran to the bridge. He was back by the time I had scrambled up to the deck. ‘This way, sir. Captain says to take you to his cabin.’

Gareth was in his dressing gown as I was shown in, his face pale, his hair tousled. ‘Thank you, Davison. That’ll do.’ He turned to me. ‘Now, what’s this all about?’

I made it as short as possible, but before I had finished he had reached for the phone, flicking a switch. ‘Captain. Call all hands. Lieutenant Commander Mault to my cabin immediately.’ He had pulled out a notebook and was flicking through the pages. ‘Anchored out here we’re not on a land line, so we have to slot in to the telephone system through ship-to-shore. However, I can contact the Naval Base on UHF.’ He was reaching for the phone again when Davison’s voice broke in on the loudspeaker — ‘Captain, sir. This is the bridge.’ He sounded a bit nervous, very excited. There’s what sounds like shots coming from the direction of La Mola — and, sir, we’re just picking up bursts of machine-gun fire from the town now.’