The Mammoth Book of Modern Ghost Stories

The sun was hot and the foreign sea like plate-glass, the colour of peacocks’ tails. Little breezes played around a salt, low, bare, rocky Arcadia, and at noon, when we sailed, the day sang with prettiness. It was like the sound of a flute. Or an oboe. Or was that the wind? The wind? No, little breezes, pirouetting down from the north, a trifle cold, for they came from high, snow-covered mountains. Even in retrospect the day held nothing sinister, not until the sun went down. There was nothing that wasn’t quite as it ought to be. Yet this was the day dated 31 December, 1943. Curiously enough, I still have my diary for that time, somewhat battered and stained, but legible, and a proof to myself what life was like before the storm and what I was after it. There is no entry under 31 December except a jotting in pencil, “St. Luke 12. And if he shall come in the second watch, or come in the third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants.” Why does this fascinate? Then it is blank for three days. Finally in ink, with a strange borrowed pen and writing mine, but not like my own, are the words, “January 2. Not the second or third watches. Unprepared in the morning, but resigned in the Dogs.” For January 3 there is entered up, “We took the rings off Broadstairs’ hand.” After that I didn’t bother to keep a diary.

This was the situation. The enemy, thirty miles up the coast, also held all the opposite shore except the island of K. During the week ending 28 December they had attacked and overrun the three large islands that are grouped round K. It was apparent they would land on K. at any moment. They had complete air superiority in that part of the world, and no Allied craft could sail in those waters except under cover of darkness. The idea was that the ninety-foot schooner, of which I was captain, should run fifty tons of ammunition to the resistance group on K. and take off as many women and children as possible. K, being the last link on the opposite coast, must be saved at best, or turned into a battlefield at worst. Losing it was out of the question. It meant a trip of two hundred and twenty miles for us, there and back. The plans were hurried, but reasonably good and simple. We were to arrive at midnight and leave not later than 2 a.m. That would give us six hours of darkness at ten knots to get away from enemy reconnaissance planes. Everything had to be done in the dark, and if, by some misfortune, such as a breakdown or encountering an enemy vessel off the island, it would be imprudent for us to get away at the prescribed time, we were to find a small creek, run the schooner alongside rocks, disguise her with branches and camouflage netting and try our luck the following night. That is if we weren’t spotted during the day. When loaded with the “ammo” the Peter – for that was her name – sat down squarely in the water.

“You know what to look for, don’t you?” said the wiry little naval officer who brought me my sailing orders. “There’s no moon, but if it’s a clear night you should see the mountains of B. fine on your port bow by 22.00. Z. island is very low, but, as you can see on the chart, there’s plenty of water round it. Keep as close inshore as possible in case of mines. When you come into the bay keep the guns closed up and slow down. And for God’s sake tell the crew to keep their mouths shut. Silence is vital. When the chaps on K. spot you they will light a bonfire for ten minutes. If they light two bonfires or no bonfire, buzz off – it means we are too late. If it’s all O.K. and they are ready for you, they’ll swing a red lantern at the end of the jetty. There’s a Major Backslide there, a drunken old so-and-so, but he knows his onions. He’ll give you the latest dope which, incidentally, we’d like in the office when you get back. So long! It’s money for jam.”

“One moment,” I said. “What other craft are out tonight?”

“Well, there’s the usual patrol, but they won’t touch you. Anything you see will be enemy. Except for twelve schooners, including Mother of God, Topaz and Helena, which are leaving here a few hours after you and working their way up the coast. Secret job. But you won’t see them on the outward passage. Possibly coming back, though.”

He went as briskly as he came, leaving my first lieutenant muttering “Money for jam!” Jimmy had an instinctive, and often unreasonable, dislike of the people who issued orders from offices. But really it wasn’t a bad-looking little job, so long as the weather lasted. Never cared for the Peter when the sea got up. Always considered her top heavy.