Dust On the Sea by Douglas Reeman

to stop.
    The man stammered, ‘Large launch. Standing into the anchorage. Corporal Gilmour says it’s a Kraut.’ He winced at Welland’s expression, and added, ‘
Sir!
’
    Blackwood said, ‘We’ll have to blow the place. Get what you can from the office, or safe if there is one. Put the Italians under guard.’
    Despard laughed. ‘They’re too shit scared to breathe, let alone run away!’
    Marines were hurrying around, as if it was only anothertraining exercise, each man intent on his part of it. Explosives, detonators, fuses.
No foul-ups.
    Blackwood paused to look at the secret equipment, silent now, with all the power switched off. There must be a generator somewhere; that had to be destroyed, too.
    The Germans had arrived early. Maybe it was just as well. They would know this was a bona fide raid by the enemy, and there would be no excuse for reprisals among the civilians. Or would there?
    â€˜Eye-Ties are locked up, sir!’ Blackwood smiled at the man, but could not recall his name.
    Despard murmured, ‘I could deal with them, if you like.’
    Blackwood said, ‘No. We’ve done enough. Let’s get the hell out of here, while we still can.’ He could have ordered it, or simply remained silent, and he knew that Despard would have acted upon his offer. And if he had been in command . . .
    All at once it was over, and as they ran along the rough track he saw the guide waiting for them. Others would know the man’s role in this lightning raid. Would he carry the blame, and pay the price for it? And the terrified woman, how would she explain her part in it when the Germans took charge here?
    The air quivered to one and then to a second explosion, and when he stopped to look back he saw the smoke spreading across the sky like dirty stains.
    He wanted to speak to the guide, but he had vanished.
    And all they had were a few documents, not much to show for the risk and the danger.
    It hit him then, not merely pride in this handful of men who had performed so well, but elation.
They had not lost a single man.
    He watched the marines wading waist-deep in the water towards the waiting schooners, aware of the urgency, and yet somehow unable to move. Eventually it would reach the Pit, that strange underground headquarters off Trafalgar Square where they had once stored a million bottles of wine.
    He checked that the Sten was at ‘safe’ and strode after the others.
    It was the same dirty schooner. He knew it was the receding madness of action, but for some reason it mattered to him.
    Like the girl, Joanna, who had known about this place. And had cared.

4
No Turning Back
    The air temperature was high, in the seventies, unusual even for Alex at this time of the year. And in the long operations room which had once been a king’s boatshed, it was like an oven.
    Blackwood had positioned himself at a slight angle from one of the overhead revolving fans, but was barely aware of it. His shirt was like a wet rag, and he could feel his back sticking to the chair. It was all he could do to concentrate on the intelligence officer’s leisurely summary of Operation
Lucifer.
    He was tired and he knew it was the aftermath of the raid, and the seemingly endless passage in the schooner, some of which had been well within Turkish waters, until they had eventually sighted the moustache-like bow waves of three motor gunboats.
    Not once had they seen an enemy aircraft, or any kind of pursuit; that was almost as unnerving as the actual raid. He had watched the schooners falling further and further astern, and wondered at their chances of survival. The M.G.B.s had tied up at H.M.S.
Mosquito
this morning, but there had been no time to rest, let alone write a letter or sleep.
    He looked around at the others, only a small gatheringthis time. A few staff officers in white or khaki drill, their shirts and tunics blotched with sweat stains. At the head of the table