A Twist of Sand

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. . ."