The Heights of Zervos by Colin Forbes

had become more akin to that of a troopship. Dodging round kit piled in the passage, Burckhardt made a mental note to get that shifted and then leapt up the staircase. Pushing open the door at the top he received a blast of cold wind and a douche of icy spray full in the face. Without even bothering to wipe himself he glanced quickly along the deserted, wave-washed deck. All the troops were under strict instructions to remain below decks and he was satisfied with the outward appearance of normality. Strange how the sea seemed far worse up here than down below. The thought flashed through his mind as he went into the wheelhouse.
    Inside the enclosed area everything was quiet and there was a feeling of disciplined control, but under the silence Burckhardt sensed an atmosphere of nerves tautly strained as the Hydra ploughed on through mounting seas. Lieutenant Schnell of the German Navy, wearing inconspicuous dark trousers and a dark woollen sweater, was holding the wheel while the ferry's captain, Nopagos, stood a few feet away with a signalling lamp in his hands. Behind him, crouched on his knees out of sight, an Alpenkorps soldier held a machine-pistol trained on the captain's back.
    'Over there. To starboard.' It was the helmsman who had spoken, nodding his head towards the north-east. Schnell was a typical German naval officer, round-faced, his dark hair neatly trimmed, a man of thirty with watchful eyes and a steady manner. Taking in the situation at a glance, Burckhardt accepted a pair of field-glasses from another soldier whose uniform was covered with a civilian raincoat. To starboard a slim grey silhouette was bearing down on the Hydra , a silhouette with lights at her masthead. Burckhardt focused the glasses on the ship and his lips tightened. Yes, it was a British destroyer sailing on an oblique course which would take her across the bows of the ferry within a mile or two. He handed back the glasses and moved into the shadows in case other glasses were aimed in his direction from that distant bridge. They wouldn't be able to pick out individuals yet, but within a few minutes they'd pick up all the detail they wanted if the destroyer maintained its present course. He spoke quickly to Schnell. 'What is Nopagos doing with that signalling lamp in his hands?'
    'He will have to use it in a minute...'
    'I don't like that.'
    'We have no alternative.' Schnell had half-turned round to stare at the oncoming warship. 'She is bound to signal us, so tell the Greek I understand the use of signals at sea.'
    Burckhardt thought quickly. It was a damnable situation: the very existence of the expedition now depended on the signal-lamp in the hands of a Greek whose ship had just been shanghaied from under him. He saw the knuckles of Schnell's hands whitened under the overhead light as he gripped the wheel and steadily kept to his course. Still crouched on the floor, the Alpenkorps soldier with the machine-pistol moved gently with the sway of the ship, his face drawn with tension as he watched Burckhardt and then transferred his gaze to Nopagos' back. Burckhardt maintained his outward appearance of calm confidence, his hands thrust into his coat pockets, although inwardly his nerves were screwed up to fever pitch. He began speaking to Nopagos in his careful, Teutonic-sounding Greek.
    'The British destroyer may start signalling. If that happens you only use your lamp when I give the order. I want you to understand this clearly - the man at the wheel is a German naval officer thoroughly conversant with signalling procedures. He will be watching. If you make any attempt to send a distress signal, we shall know. If there is an emergency we shall engage the British destroyer and we shall undoubtedly be sunk. I hope you realize that it is unlikely anyone will be saved in seas like this...' Without putting it in so many words he managed to convey that Nopagos' crew were hostages. He had just finished speaking when the moonlit wake of the oncoming