Free Dust On the Sea by Douglas Reeman

hurried to meet him.
    Blackwood looked at the land. It seemed to tower over them, even though he knew it was only a tiny island. A speck of dust, dust on the sea.
    Carson came back. ‘It’s off. He says that the Italians are being replaced tomorrow.’ He sounded angry. ‘The Krauts are taking over.’ He glanced at the dark shape by the gunwale. ‘Poor bastard’s shit scared. Says we should have come sooner. I thought that, too. But they don’t listen, do they?’
    Blackwood’s mind was working rapidly, when before all he had wanted to do was sleep.
    â€˜It has to be done, Terry. You know that.’ He could see it like a film, as if it had already happened. Like the paintings at Hawks Hill, the sergeant of marines cradling the mortally wounded Nelson in his arms, the marines at Peking, the Crimea. They had probably said it even then, like the young lieutenant who had been so happy with his relics and his digs.
They don’t listen, do they?
    â€˜What shall I tell him?’
    Blackwood watched a solitary firefly above the water, like a tiny star.
    â€˜To lead us to the place of safety. He must know that, otherwise he wouldn’t have been here.’ He turned away, sensing that ‘Sticks’ Welland was nearby. ‘If he refuses . . .’
    Carson was staring at him in the darkness. ‘He won’t.’ They were suddenly strangers.
    To Welland he said, ‘Get them moving. First section into the boat,
now.
’
    Carson said, ‘I’ll be back as arranged. I’ll warn the other boats.’ He waited until the second section had slithered down into the boat. ‘He’s frightened for his family, that’s all.’
    Blackwood nodded, moved and disturbed by Carson’s sincerity, when within a few hours they might all be dead.
    He reached out and gripped his arm.
    â€˜Thanks for reminding me.’
    Minutes later the boat was lurching over smooth rocks, and then as quickly they were paddling back to the schooner. Blackwood heard the sudden drumbeat of the old engine as she went astern to gain sea-room.
    He found the man waiting for him; his companion had already disappeared. Then he turned and saw the marines moving away in separate sections, as they were trained to do. The schooner was gone; he could not even hear the engine any more, only the sea sighing amongst the rocks and inlets. Like breathing.
    The man said quietly, ‘Follow. Daylight very soon. A bad time, Capitano.
Bad!
’
    He swung away and headed towards the cliff.
    Blackwood unslung his Sten gun, and adjusted thecommando dagger at his belt. Carson’s words seemed to hang in the cold air.
    They don’t listen, do they?
    Sergeant Welland called, ‘Here comes the next section, sir!’
    Blackwood twisted on one elbow and lowered his binoculars. The sky was completely clear, and from their rocky vantage point he could see the village. Small, white-painted houses; there could not be more than a dozen or so. How did they manage to survive on this and the other islands?
    He saw Lieutenant Despard crouching down to examine the ‘place of safety’, as it had been described by some comedian at H.Q. A low cave with two ways in and out. You’d still have to move quickly if somebody lobbed a grenade into it.
    He tried to empty his mind of useless doubts. There was one large house above the village, where the new detection device had been stored and tested. The report stated that there were three men, civilians, probably Germans, working on it. The only military presence was a dozen or so Italian soldiers. A home from home to them, he thought. Far better than the desert, or fighting partisans somewhere.
    He said, ‘Everything okay?’
    Despard slithered down beside him. He moved easily for such a powerful man.
    â€˜No trouble, sir.’ He was tugging out his own binoculars, eyes moving from the village to the dark blue of the sea. There