A Twist of Sand

IX Trial at the Cape

"Most irregular," interjected the president of the court martial.

His cherubic face, which I had once known to become as mischievous as a schoolboy's when arranging a secret drink before lunch at Admiralty House, was stern.

The five officers, divided by the rear-admiral in the middle, formed the proscenium, as it were, to the glorious backdrop of the Cape mountains behind Simonstown. Through the long windows behind them I could see a great wash of white arum lilies — they grow as wild as hedge-flowers in England during the Cape spring — for all the world like surf against the blue sea and the mountains, to which Drake paid immortal tribute when he rounded them four centuries ago.

Elton stood, faintly self-conscious but smirking at being in the limelight, at the improvised "witness box" which had been rigged for the court martial. I and my defending officer, Lieutenant Gander, sat behind a table facing the captains, the two lieutenants and the Rear-Admiral Commanding South Atlantic. Elton was enjoying telling them about my savage assault on him before Trout went in to sink NP I.

The court martial was, of course, inevitable. It followed my arrival as surely as the breakers of Curva dos Dunas snarl over the burnt-out remains of NP I at this moment. I suppose my return navigation of the tortuous channel-alone, utterly alone with nothing but my own thoughts-was one of the most automatic things I have ever done. Through the creaming welter of death I had conned the damaged Trout, past the invisible causeway to the shore, through the twisted whorls of the channel to the open sea. I have, to this day, no clear recollection of that night. Probably the reaction of seeing NP I come to such a ghastly end, followed by my own action in massacring a terror-stricken wretch with a machine-gun, had been too great. Vaguely the death-dealing breakers and sand-bars glided by and, my eyes aching from the whiteness of the surf under the whiteness of the moon, I stumbled down the conning-tower hatch and gave John a course for Simonstown.

"Full ahead," I had told him in a toneless voice.

I fell upon my bunk and slept like a dead man.

There is, however, no escaping the vigil of the Royal Navy. I had sinned — or they thought I had — and the court martial was the natural sequel. Half a day after Trout had tied up in Simonstown and the signals had flown between Simonstown and London, I was relieved of my command. The Commander-in-Chief had decided that there was certainly something very fishy about Trout and her skipper.

Elton was doing nothing to disillusion the court martial on that score.

"When," asked the bland voice of the prosecuting officer, "did you have doubts about Lieutenant-Commander Peace's er — ah — mental state?"

"The night we 'eard the whale… " his voice trailed away uncertainly.

The Commander-in-Chief gazed at him questioningly.

Certainly the court martial was providing its quota of surprises.

"Heard a whale?" snapped the gold braid at the high table. "What d'ye mean — heard a whale?"

"Well, sir," stumbled Elton, growing pink round the It came out with a rush. "I don't like to say in front of the lady, sir." He gestured towards the Wren who was taking the proceedings down in shorthand.

"You mean…" the rear-admiral snorted, incredulously. "Anything you have to say, say it, by God, and let us hear, even in front of a lady."

"Well, sir," said Elton. "The night we heard a whale farting over the hydrophones."

A slight tremor in her pencil was the only indication the Wren showed that the shock had not passed unnoticed.

"Heard a whale… er…" gasped the rear-admiral.

"There seem to have been some strange occurrences in H.M.S. Trout," said the senior captain, his voice like a file.

"Explain yourself, Elton," said the Commander-in-Chief.

"Well, sir, we was listening, Bissett and me, on the 'ydrophoncs and there comes this noise. Strike a light, I says, that bleedin' whale must be getting the same sort of grub as we get in Trout. 'E's got a guts-ache, all right."

The Wren's pencil faltered, but she carried on gamely, brown head bent over her notebook.

Elton paused while the drama sank in.

But the old seadog presiding wasn't going to let him away with it.

"And then?" he asked in his quarter-deck voice.

"Lieutenant-Commander Peace come in and he seemed to think it was a U-boat." The contempt for my judgement was obvious.

"Could it not have been H.E muffled, or distorted?" asked the senior captain.

"Not a… beg pardon, no sir," replied Elton. "I never 'eard H.E like that."

The junior captain on the other side chipped in.

"You're not the senior hydrophone operator in Trout are you?"

"No sir," said Elton, "but…"

"That's all," snapped the officer. Here at least, I thought wanly, was someone with a judicial turn of mind.

"Yes, and then?" asked the rear-admiral, usurping the prosecuting counsel's function.

"The skipper, I mean Lieutenant-Commander Peace, told Bissett to keep on to it. I 'eard 'im giving orders to follow it."

"Thank you," said the prosecution. "We shall now pass on to the occasion when Trout stood at action stations for — how many hours, Elton?"

"Must 'ave been about eight hours, sir," he replied.

"Between the time of your first hearing this extraordinary noise and the time you stood to action stations all day, did you have any cause to suspect that Lieutenant-Commander Peace was not himself."

"Oh yes, sir," smirked Elton. "We all knew 'e was nuts — shouting and screaming orders down the voice-pipe, and 'im up alone there with no look-outs… "

The Commander-in-Chief and the senior captain exchanged whispers.

"I presume you will be bringing evidence on this point, Lieutenant?" asked the president.

"Yes, sir, I am afraid so," he replied.

"Don't be afraid," snapped the old seadog. "I want The whole story of Trout's mission." I knew what was passing through my unwilling tormentor's mind — I've got a cast-iron case against this poor bastard in the dock, but he's had a bloody fine record and I'll let him off the little bits as much as possible.

The judicial captain on the rear-admiral's right came to my rescue.

"Elton, did you have any actual orders from Lieutenant-Commander Peace during this time?"

"No sir," said Elton, falling into the trap. "'E kept Bissett going something cruel, sir. Said Bissett 'ad the best ears in the boat."

"So all this you are saying is merely crew's gossip — Lieutenant-Commander Peace in fact never gave you personally orders during this period?"

"No sir, but…"

"That is all I wanted to know," he said and leaned back. I needed a friend pretty badly, too.

"Now, Elton, tell us about this alleged assault," said the lieutenant.

Elton darted a venomous glance at me. They said he'd been unconscious for two hours after I'd hit him.

"We'd been at action stations all day, sir, and not a sound on the 'ydrophones," he said. "Then the skipper — I mean Lieutenant-Commander Peace, sir, comes and I seed in his face…"

"Only the facts, Elton," said the junior captain.

Elton bridled. "I was saying to Bissett, sir, that the skipper wasn't looking too good and 'ere we'd been eight hours listening for a fartin' whale… Then the skipper — I mean Lieutenant-Commander Peace, sir — was standing there looking as if he'd bloody well murder me and then 'e 'it me. When I comed round we was moving."

"What did you say to provoke Lieutenant-Commander Peace into such an extraordinary act for a commanding officer?" asked the rear-admiral.

Elton coloured. "'E overheard me saying 'e was crackers," he mumbled.

The senior captain cut short his narrative, which, told thus coldly in court, sounded too damning.

"You were with Lieutenant-Commander Peace in the Mediterranean, were you not, Elton?"

He looked suspicious. "Yes, sir, I was."

"He was a good commanding officer and — if I may say so at this stage — a very brave one, too, was he not?"

"Yes, sir, 'e was."

"Is it true Trout's crew had a nickname for him?"

"Yes sir. We called 'im ' The Mountie,' because he always got his man."

The court smiled. One up to me, I thought. A past record would only count in mitigation.

"A very brave and daring commanding officer, with the D.S.O. and now two Bars?" persisted the senior captain.

"Yes sir."

"And you never had occasion to query his actions then?"

"No sir."

"And why in this instance, then?"

Elton shuffled. Perhaps he remembered the sinkings and the glory in the Mediterranean.

"I don't want to say nothing against Lieutenant-Commander Peace," he said haltingly. "But this time 'e was different — I thought…"

"You thought, if I may use colloquial language, that he was round the bend?"

"Yes, sir, that's it. I ain't saying nothing against him…."

"Thank you, Elton, that will be all," said the president.

Elton looked across at me half apologetically as he came out of the witness box. He's said enough, I thought.

Bissett, supremely uncomfortable, took his place. After the routine questions, the incident of my striking Elton came to the fore.

"You were the only witness to this extraordinary action," said the lieutenant. "Tell the court what happened — in your own words."

"I'm afraid I can't sir," Bissett said hesitatingly.

"You can't?" echoed the prosecutor, glancing at his sheaf of papers.

"No, sir. You see, I was busy on the hydrophones. I couldn't hear what was being said between Lieutenant-Commander Peace and Elton, sir. The earpieces were over my ears. I only saw him against the bulkhead afterwards."

Good, loyal Bissett!

The Commander-in-Chief surveyed him with frosty eyes.

"Is that all you have to say about it, Bissett?"

"Yes sir."

The admiral knew his ratings well enough to know Bissett was lying like a sick baby. His glance travelled slowly between Bissett, the prosecuting officer and myself. We all knew.

"Very well," he said coldly. "Get on with this question of the whale."

The lieutenant refreshed himself from his notes.

"The night before the long stand-to at action stations — when did you first hear this extraordinary noise on the hydrophones?"

"It must have been about getting dark up above," said | Bissett. "I heard noises and so I called the captain."

"Why?"

Bissett looked puzzled. "Well sir, any extraordinary noise and I report it at once. That's the way it works in a submarine." His gibe touched the lieutenant.

"What was different about this noise from any other — you could have been mistaken, couldn't you? Might it not have been a confused echo back from the warships — the ones which stopped and gave you mail?"

Bissett smiled, the smile of a man who really knew what he was talking about.

"No sir, definitely not; I never heard a noise like that — before or since."

"Can you describe it?"

"Yes sir. It was a sort of regular gurgling — a sort of thumping and a gurgle, but quite regular, sir."'

The judicial captain leaned forward.

"Not once or twice — like ah… a whale?"

The Wren's pencil trembled slightly.

Bissett smiled. "No sir. I listened to it moving left to right, travelling at first maybe at about ten knots. Then it slowed."

"Did Lieutenant-Commander Peace hear it too?"

"Yes sir, he listened at the hydrophones. Then he changed course and we followed it."

"How long?"

"Near two hours, sir."

"Now tell the court, when Lieutenant-Commander Peace heard it for the first time, what was his reaction?"

"He seemed interested, but puzzled, like I was, sir."

"Was there anything — er — abnormal about him at that stage?"

Bissett's face grew red.

"There ain't anything wrong with the captain," he broke out. "He's the best bloody skipper I ever sailed with…"

"Bissett!" growled the gold lace in the middle.

Bissett swung and faced him. "It's true, sir. Ask any of the crew. He's on the mat because young Elton here got what he deserved. We still dunno what he was up to, but any of us would go to sea tomorrow with him if you asked us."

The judicial captain said ironically: "A very fine spontaneous tribute and I hope it was not too quick for the record. We want facts, Bissett. The court will ask for your opinion if it requires it. Meanwhile you can save it."

"He saved us often enough," said Bissett rather wildly.

The lieutenant stepped into the breach.

"Now, Bissett," he said. "You had been following this strange noise on a steady bearing for two hours, correct? Then what happened?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Peace rushed in, excited-like and told me to switch off everything."

"What was he excited about?"

"I don't know, sir. He don't usually consult me about an attack. I'm only a rating."

A heavy frown split the Commander-in-Chief's face at this uncalled for sarcasm. But he kept quiet.

"And then?"

"After I had switched off, he told me not to use the hydrophones again without his express permission, sir."

"What would you deduce from that?"

"That Trout was in danger — in big danger, sir. He knew what he was doing."

"The court will decide that," said the lieutenant grimly.

"And when did you next use the hydrophones?"

"Next day, when we went to action stations."

"What did you hear?"

"No transmissions, sir," said Bissett woodenly.

"Until when?"

"After he knocked Elton out, sir. The transmissions was the same. Lieutenant-Commander Peace was with me at the time."

"Same as what?"

"As the previous night, sir. No mistaking it. Regular, gurgling. Not H.E, sir."

"And Lieutenant-Commander Peace intended to fire a torpedo salvo on this bearing?"

"I dunno what the skipper was going to do, sir. All I know is that the noises were the same."

The prosecuting officer sighed. Bissett was certainly no help to him.

"Was Lieutenant-Commander Peace quite normal when he heard the transmissions again?"

"Yes, sir, quite normal. We were both pleased."

"Why were you pleased?"

Bissett looked at him contemptuously. "We'd found the enemy again, that's why."

The judicial captain leaned forward.

"You say ' enemy,' Bissett. What makes you say that?"

"It was the enemy all right, sir," muttered Bissett, neatly caught.

There was a short silence.

"You must think over this next question very carefully before answering," said the captain. The way he said it sent a thrill through the court. Bissett felt it, too. I hoped he wouldn't be stupid and try and cover up for me again.

"You say enemy. That means what you heard was — machinery?"

Bissett looked across at me, hopelessly. There was a long pause. Bissett shuffled and then looked up suddenly.

"Yes, sir, it was machinery."

The tension broke.

"But not H.E?"

"No, not H.E, sir."

The rear-admiral smiled frostily at my counsel.

Bissett went, with a last appealing glance at me.

The prosecuting officer fumbled with his papers for a moment, producing the necessary air of drama before the entrance of his key witness.

"Lieutenant John Garland," he called.

Someone at the door repeated it and I heard it again down the corridor. Since the moment I had "frozen "John on Trout's bridge that night, we might have been strangers.

John came in and made his way, smartly uniformed, to the witness box. He was sworn and looked aloofly round the court. His preliminary answers were dry, clipped, official. He looked as cool as he always was under fire.

Then came the questions about what had happened after Bissett had first heard NP I. I would have to cure myself of thinking of the noise as NP I, in case it should slip out, I thought grimly to myself.

The prosecutor consulted his notes.

"On orders from Lieutenant-Commander Peace, you altered course sharply, did you not, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, I did," replied John.

"Why?"

"Because I was ordered to do so."

"That's no answer, Lieutenant — what was the reason for the sharp alteration — it was nearly right about face, wasn't it?"

"There was a suspicious noise on the hydrophones and Lieutenant-Commander Peace decided to follow it."

The prosecutor scanned his notes. "Did not Lieutenant-Commander Peace use these words: ' I'm sick of this bloody square-search and I'm trailing a whale with alimentary ailments?'"

John looked him in the eyes, lying magnificently.

"Those words were never used to me, sir."

"Are you sure, Lieutenant? Confirmation might be in Lieutenant-Commander Peace's favour when his mental state comes to be considered."

John wouldn't fall for that sort of blandishment. "They were never used to me," he repeated.

"I shall bring two other witnesses to swear they were used to you, Lieutenant Garland."

John shrugged slightly. The prosecutor saw he was wasting his time.

"Now some time afterwards Lieutenant-Commander Peace rushed through the control room in an agitated state and shouted for the hydrophones to be switched off immediately — correct?"

John smiled slightly. "Lieutenant-Commander Peace stepped, through the control room — I was unaware of an agitated state and ordered the hydrophones to be switched off."

"Why?"

John flickered a glance at the Commander-in-Chief. "In submarines an asdic transmission, or any untoward noise, can reveal one's presence to the enemy. The order was perfectly logical to me."

"The enemy, lieutenant — what enemy?"

"The sound at the other end of the hydrophones."

The prosecutor began to enjoy himself. "Both you and the chief hydrophone operator have used the term enemy without the slightest reason to suspect there was anything at all making a noise — not even a whale, with or without alimentary ailments."

The sally left John as cool as before.

"To me, sir, strange transmissions at sea, in war-time in a submarine, are the enemy. Until they're proved otherwise."

"A curious attitude," remarked the prosecuting officer. "In other words, fire first and ask questions afterwards?"

"Yes, sir," replied John.

"And then Lieutenant-Commander Peace ordered silent routine — why?"

"Normal precautions when in contact with the enemy," said John with a ghost of a smile.

"Logical, rational orders?"

"Yes."

"When a noise, which could not be identified by anyone on board, let alone Lieutenant-Commander Peace, was heard?"

"Logical and rational battle orders, sir."

"And you would consider equally logical and rational Lieutenant-Commander Peace's ordering you off the bridge and navigating himself, without reference to his senior officer?"

John remained silent. It was all he could do.

The prosecutor had me in the bag — and he knew it.

"I quote you," he said: "'What's the buzz Geoffrey — and brushing up on the old navigation all by yourself, too.'"

My defending officer was on his feet in a trice.

"If the prosecutor wishes to question his witness on the point, he is at liberty to do so. He cannot say 'I quote'."

"I withdraw that, then," replied the other, but to the naval minds unused to the niceties of the law, I could see that my case had been further damaged.

"Lieutenant-Commander Peace made another sharp alteration of course before steaming all night at high speed?"

"Yes, sir," said John miserably, and gave technical details of course, speed and so on.

The prosecutor tapped his pencil lightly on the table. "And when you approached a destination — still unknown to you — Lieutenant-Commander Peace ordered you off the bridge, as well as the watchmen?"

"That is correct, sir," said John.

"Why did he do that?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Were those 'logical, rational orders'?"

"I was surprised, I admit, but Lieutenant-Commander Peace has always had an individual touch. I remember"

"No reminiscences, please, Lieutenant. Stick to the facts."

"After which, from the bridge, Lieutenant-Commander Peace gave a series of course alterations at short intervals?"

Thinking of my navigation off the Skeleton Coast, that was a superb understatement.

"Yes, sir."

The prosecutor looked at him. "Please produce to the court your chart showing them."

This was the left hook to the jaw.

"There was no chart," he replied simply.

"No chart?" exclaimed the rear-admiral. "What do you mean, Lieutenant Garland?"

"I mean, sir, that Lieutenant-Commander Peace was navigating from a chart of his own, which he did not reveal to me. The log is here, though."

The old fighter behind the table eyed John severely.

"You have no idea where you were?"

"No, sir, not to this moment."

"Or what you were following?"

"No, sir."

"Or what the alterations of course were for?"

"No, sir."

"No idea at all?" he barked out.

"We must have been close to land, sir, because of the echo-sounder readings."

"And then Trout lay at the bottom of the sea at action stations for eight hours with torpedoes at the ready?"

The prosecutor flicked over several pages of notes to draw this further damaging conclusion.

"Yes, sir."

The log book was passed up to the main table. The rear-admiral peered at it intently for a moment and then threw it down with a snort of disgust. I probably would have too.

The judicial captain chipped in.

"Lieutenant Garland, if you were presented with this log book with these apparently unrelated changes of course — extreme changes of course — what would your interpretation of it be?"

John looked across at me, the first time he had done so. There was no compassion in that look, such as I had seen when he came in and found me laughing after I had decided to go in and sink NP I in her hide-out.

He replied firmly and without hesitation: "I would have said they were the work of a madman."

The Commander-in-Chief let out a faint sigh. My best friend had made the most damning statement yet before the court.

"So," said the prosecutor and I could see he was hating it, "in other words, you would say your commanding officer was mad?"

John looked at him squarely. "I did not say that, sir," he rejoined firmly. Even the judicial captain lost some of his detached air as the air of drama heightened.

"What I did say, sir, was that if such a log book were presented to me here in court, I would say it was the work of a madman. What I did not say was that I was there. I looked through the periscope. I saw what he was doing."

The prosecutor reddened. "There is no record of this vital piece of evidence…"

John brushed his words aside.

"I looked through the periscope," he repeated slowly as if every single breaker of that wave-lashed holocaust were living again before his eyes. "I saw the most fantastic welter of broken water that ever terrified a sailor out of his wits. It frightened the living hell out of me. I still dream about it. All I know is that until that moment I thought my commanding officer was… to say the least… suffering from battle fatigue. I thought so when I heard him laughing to himself. I thought the attack plan was all a figment of his imagination. I thought the torpedo settings were so shallow as to be crazy. I thought his action in standing watch alone on the bridge was near madness. I have no words for his course alterations and the soundings. But when I looked out and saw Trout among the breakers, I knew that he was sane beyond sanity, and he proved it by bringing us out alive. No one else could have done it. But for him we would all be dead men. There wouldn't be any court martial. I don't know to this day what he was doing, but I believe if he said there was an enemy, there was."

There was a long silence. The Cape mountains looked lovelier than ever. A tear splashed from the Wren's cheek on to her notebook and she dabbed hurriedly at it. John never looked across at me.

The Commander-in-Chief cleared his throat.

"Lieutenant Garland," he said, "if I ordered Trout to sea tomorrow with Lieutenant-Commander Peace in command, would you be prepared to sail with him?"

"Yes, sir," said John simply, "anywhere."

He cleared his throat again. "No further questions? Thank you, Lieutenant."

I smiled wryly to myself. John had convinced them I was sane all right, but if I was fully responsible for my actions, then what in heaven's name was I doing? It really weakened my own case. How could I answer the unanswerable questions about NP I? I knew the line I would have to take.

"Any more witnesses?" asked the gold braid.

The prosecutor grinned wryly. "I'm afraid that if I brought every one of the crew, they might say the same sort of thing. No, sir, I have a number of affidavits here which can be referred to if the court feels there should be oral evidence in clarification of various points, but in point of fact there is no dispute about the general facts. Unidentified noises were heard, an attack was mounted, H.M.S. Trout was damaged, there were a series of the wildest alterations of course and depth soundings, Trout was apparently in grave danger, there was a complete failure on the part of her commanding officer to notify his officers what he was doing and even where his ship was. I have discussed these points with the defence" — indicating my defending officer — "and they are not in dispute."

"Most irregular," sniffed the rear-admiral.

"In fact, your case is complete against Lieutenant-Commander Peace then?" asked the judicial captain.

My defending officer was on his feet in a trice.

"I cannot allow such admissions," he snapped out. "Lieutenant-Commander Peace is on trial on the most serious charges. It is only right that he should be heard in his own defence."

"He admits the facts, but has some explanation of them?" asked the Commander-in-Chief.

My defending officer shuffled. "Unfortunately, sir, I am not in the accused's — Lieutenant-Commander Peace's — confidence regarding his explanation. But he has a right to be heard, nevertheless."

The old sailor nodded and I was duly sworn. I could see them all eyeing me closely.

"Before you begin, Lieutenant Gander," said the C.-in-C., "there are a number of points regarding Trout which the court wishes to clear up before we go into detail regarding this… ah… attack. Commander Peace will answer them, since I must confess I am seriously at a loss myself. First, Commander Peace, who ordered you to take H.M.S. Trout to sea? I have signalled the Admiralty and I can find no authorisation — whatsoever — for your ah… mission."

So, I thought, those clever two never wrote down anything at all. The net was closing fast.

"I was ordered verbally by the Flag Officer (S) in the presence of the Director of Naval Intelligence. I was flown from Malta and briefed in person."

A ripple of incredulity ran through the court. All five officers stared at me from the dais.

"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.

I have only the vaguest recollection of the rest of the proceedings. It was only a question of disposing of the corpse, so to speak. I felt quite unmoved by it all. I remember John coming to chat with me, and then to plead, half-quizzically, and again with a measure of friendship which I did not realise he had for me. But the die was cast. Curva dos Dunas and I must keep our secret — until death do us part.