A Twist of Sand

I swung the pelorus with hands that trembled. I gave John a new course. We were almost opposite Galleon Point.

I could see the spar out to port where Trout had gone aground. I nodded towards it.

"That," I said to John, "is where we damaged the hydroplanes."

He didn't reply. I could see that the deadly swiftness of Johann's attack had shaken him. His helmsmanship remained masterly.

Stein kicked the still figure without compassion.

"All this makes him a better bodyguard than ever, doesn't it," he grinned evilly. "With a score like that to settle, particularly."

He bent down and examined the unconscious man's head. "He'll be out for another hour at least," he said. "Will that get us safe into the anchorage? If it won't, I'll make sure that he doesn't wake up for another couple." He took the kierie and looked questioningly at Johann. The cold precision of it revolted me.

"It'll be enough," I said.

"In this channel you're far more valuable -- for my life in particular -- than this," he said kicking the still form again without compunction. "But there may well be occasions when the position is reversed."

The high hill to the north, clearly visible, and the three-topped one to the south, peered down at the ship making her way in. The dun beach and the dunes, tonsured by clinging, wind-torn shrub, were half opaque through the driving salt. There was still enough glare, however, to make the eyes wince. I gave John the course. As Etosha came, abreast Galleon Point I could see the tall spar rising from the sand. A sailing ship's mast? A landmark? A beacon? Even at a couple of hundred yards it was impossible in know. One never would know. In silence, John, Anne, Stein and I watched the scene. Etosha swept round the last great whorl of the channel and again turned parallel to the way she had come in, facing due west now. The hammering of the sea eased. The wind continued to lash out blindly.

Etosha was safe inside Curva dos Dunas.

"Course two-seven-oh," I said.

She headed across the anchorage. Through the opaque light I saw what I had been looking for. NP I. The high, fin-like conning-tower was black with rust, the ethereal quality of it as I had seen her that night now gone, like the colour which dies when a lovely deep-sea creature is brought to the surface. The fin was slightly canted, but the merciful salt and whiteness still blanketed the wounds which sank her. I included John and Stein in my nod towards her.

"There's the atomic U-boat."

Stein went forward and I could see how white his knuckles were as he gripped the top of the dodger.

"The ultimate weapon," he murmured almost to himself. "And a British captain with an ordinary submarine sank her with a recognition flare!" He turned to me and his voice rasped with bitterness. "Congratulations, Captain Peace! It is so like the British to reward their heroes with the boot."

John relaxed at the wheel.   He grinned a little.

"I'll never forgive you, Geoffrey, for not letting me in on this," he said. "Now you can be reinstated."

"Rubbish!" I said sharply. "There's no question of reinstatement now. That's all in the past."

Anne surprised me by agreeing with John.

"If you're innocent, then the court martial can reverse 'its findings." She turned to John. "It's up to you to tell them."

John nodded.

I rang for slow ahead. I'd anchor near NP I and then send the party ashore in the boat.

"Now see here," I said. "This particular place happens to belong to me. In that sense it's private. And NP I is part of its private history. You, John, can go and tell your story to the Admiralty -- if you like. They'll want some proof. And where will you get it? Do you think the Admiralty is going to believe a sentimental, unlikely little story about a hidden anchorage from a friend who feels sorry that his former chief was kicked out of the Service years ago ? They'll want proof." I turned to Anne. "John's a sailor. He couldn't find this place, let alone bring in a ship. There's only one man living who can do that, and that is me. The only other man to do it was the skipper of the U-boat, and he's roasted. I expect Johann ate him into the bargain."

The anchor clattered over the side. Eight fathoms and a bottom of hard sand. Good holding ground.

Anne said, a trifle judicially, "I seem to remember an American lieutenant in that famous old-time battle off Boston -- what was it? . . ."

"Shannon?  Chesapeake?" said John.

"Yes," said Anne. "That's it -- Chesapeake. They reinstated him donkeys' years later. . . ."

I smiled grimly when I thought of the Director of Naval Intelligence. One played that game by their rules -- until death do us part.

She might have been arguing for the man, not the cause.

Stein, however, aligned himself with me.

"Captain Peace has too much of a past to let him fo I comfortable,"   he  said  amiably.    "The  present  is  what matters. The Afrikaaners have an expression -- ' Don't haul dead cows out of the ditch.' With Captain Peace in particular they are apt to stink."

Anne turned to John.