Dust On the Sea by Douglas Reeman

Author:Douglas Reeman [Douglas Reeman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2006-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

10

‘Just Get Me to the Bloody Sea!’

Blackwood licked his dry lips and felt the sand grate between his teeth. It took physical effort to shut the temptation of water from his mind, and every time he moved to ease his limbs or use his binoculars he could feel it swilling inside his flask. It was a long day, and with the sun high in the sky there was little relief. Like the rest of the marines he had already consumed his small pack of rations, leaving the chocolate to the last. He could taste it now, and thought of the sailors giving their nutty rations to the children on the Greek island where they had handed over the rifles and ammunition.

He had intended to work his way around all the positions; some of the men would be feeling far more than personal discomfort. Inactivity was always the greatest enemy.

But Gaillard had refused to agree. ‘Let the lieutenants do it. I don’t carry passengers!’

He glanced at him now while he was checking his little notebook again. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face lined with strain. It was unusual to see him unshaven, like somebody else.

One of Despard’s men had caught sight of a wireless aerial, for only a few seconds before it had been lowered again. Careful examination with binoculars had also revealed a hide at the top of the adjoining ridge. Invisible from the air, it merged perfectly with the crumbling brown rocks. A freak breeze from the Strait and it had shivered very slightly, Blackwood had thought, like scenery in a school play. Probably painted canvas, but it was all the evidence they had. All they needed.

The tank stood as before, sometimes with the engines running, sometimes not. A few soldiers walked around between the barbed wire and the ridge, stretching their legs, smoking, only alert when they heard approaching aircraft. There were some collapsed and derelict buildings nearby, exactly as described in the intelligence pack, but nothing moved outside this small, desolate place. Even the Germans appeared unwilling to stray very far, and when one of them laughed the sound seemed to hang in the air like a taunt.

Blackwood peered at his watch. How much longer?

He thought of the house again. Of the swimming pool. The way she had looked at him . . . He jerked his head up angrily; he had almost fallen asleep. He glanced round as Archer moved slightly and raised one hand to his ear.

‘Someone’s comin’, sir!’

Blackwood wanted to shake himself. What is the matter with me? I should have heard it.

Gaillard was dragging himself through a patch of scrub, his holster catching on the thorns.

He snapped, ‘What is it?’

Sergeant Welland had joined them. ‘Not another bloody tank, anyway!’

A few of the German soldiers had appeared from the ridge, buttoning their tunics, smartening up.

Somebody said, ‘Must be Rommel payin’ a visit!’ He was glared into silence.

A small, open truck rolled up to the wire, dust spewing from its wheels like great wings. Two of the soldiers were parting the wire with a crude but effective piece of tackle.

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