Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  The first two L.C.I.s frothed astern and then swung away towards the freighter, their low sides seeming to bulge with crammed Chinese. Only the children waved and shrieked, their parents seemed content to watch the approaching ship with mesmerised fascination. No doubt more ‘squeeze’ would be waiting for them aboard, and more when they landed. It was what they had come to expect. One day it might be their turn, and only that made it bearable.

  Major Yi-Fang, sleek and competent, strode along the sand, his boots black and gleaming in the sunlight. He saluted and said, ‘They will soon be away now.’

  ‘You’ve crammed them in a bit, Major.’ Gunnar regarded him steadily, wondering why he should dislike this man more than usual.

  ‘It is good enough, Captain. They have grown used to much worse.’

  ‘There is such a thing as charity, Major!’ In spite of his guard Gunnar felt angered by the man’s amused arrogance.

  Yi-Fang shrugged. ‘Charity is the conscience of scoundrels. Captain, nothing more!’

  Jago interrupted, ‘Here comes the damn chopper at last!’

  Gunnar checked the angry words in his throat and turned his back on the smiling Chinese officer. Faintly at first, and then with growing power, the helicopter flashed in the sunlight and then turned on the last leg of its flight towards the town itself. Like a giant mosquito, flying above its shadow on the placid water, it filled the anchorage with violent sound, so that the people in the landing craft shaded their faces and cowered their heads as it rattled above them. With a great swirl of sand and dust it alighted with precise dignity at the top of the beach, while Gunnar and the others pulled down their caps and coughed in the miniature dust storm.

  It was two days overdue, but no one seemed surprised. Payenhau seemed to slide further and further from the sphere of operations, and even within the island itself things had stayed very quiet. No more incidents, although Jago’s men took care to maintain constant patrols and road checks around the clock. But there had been no softening in the attitude of the islanders, no olive branch or even a hint of what they were thinking and preparing.

  Gunnar watched the shining rotor arms swing to a halt and then droop as if the life had gone from them. The doors slid open and several khaki figures lowered themselves to the land. There were official sacks, mail and fresh instructions no doubt. He saw Sergeant Rickover talking with the pilot and then collect a small parcel which he lifted in the sunlight, a great grin on his brown face.

  Whatever it contained, it seemed to please Jago, who said in a surprisingly friendly tone: ‘We’ll have a drink together, Captain. Right now I must go and collect my parcel. Okay?’

  Major Yi-Fang smiled as the marine strode up the beach. ‘Promotion at last, Captain. We now have a marine colonel, I think!’

  Gunnar grunted and walked slowly down towards the water’s edge. So that was it. No wonder Jago was anxious to keep things smooth and unruffled. The thought of Inglis’s death fanned through him like a searing flame, and he kicked at the sand with sudden fury. Of all the bloody-minded way of doing things!

  He looked towards the bluff and the jagged outline of the fishing village. It was quiet again, the boats having left once more for the open sea just as quickly as they had arrived. The old headman would know by now of Jago’s promotion and would arrive at the same interpretation as himself. A colonel would have to be backed up by a larger command Rickover would hardly be a sufficient force for one so senior. Tao-Cho would have his own ideas about that!

  At the far end of the beach he sat down on a flat rock, suddenly tired and conscious of the unwavering heat. Across towards the nearest islet the sea looked flat and inviting, the green water almost milky in the sunlight. At the top of the islet the glare touched one of Jago’s guard posts, giving the hidden machine gun a sudden lethal glitter.

  Gunnar looked around at the deserted beach and at the tall, sedate rocks behind him. It was still and quiet. Everyone was either in town or out trading with the freighter. It was too rare an event to miss. He made a sudden decision and began to strip off his shirt and slacks. With distaste he removed the heavy pistol from his belt and covered it with his cap on the top of his pile of clothing, then clad only in his underpants he stepped gratefully into the clear water and launched himself into its friendly embrace.

  * * *

  Lieutenant (jg) Don Kroner stood angrily on the fo’c’sle, his long, handsome face dripping with sweat. Ten of the ship’s seamen, in undress whites, carrying carbines and ammunition, submitted to Chief Tasker’s slow inspection as he moved along the untidy line, his gaunt features set in concentration.

  The man at the right of the line, a tall, gangling gunner named Chavasse, banged his rifle butt on the deck and peered at the officer. ‘What’s the point of it all, Lieutenant? Pirelli’s well away by now!’

  The others swayed and murmured in agreement.

  Chavasse had a nasal, whining tone, and sensed his unexpected importance. ‘It’s goddamn unfair, sir! Like some of the others, I was due for transfer when we delivered this can to the Nats in Taiwan! ‘Stead of that we’re stuck here like a lot of rookies!’

  Kroner eyed him coldly. ‘You’ll do as you’re damn well told, Chavasse! You’ll patrol the outskirts of the town, on foot, and watch all the dives in case he shows up there.’

  Another man, Robbins, a flat-faced ex-truck driver from Cleveland, laughed and pointed at his companion. ‘If there’s any dives in this dump, he’ll wind up like Pirelli!’

  Chief Tasker glared at him. ‘Stow it! You’re like a lot of whores waiting for a weddin’! Call yourselves seamen!’

  Kroner turned away in disgust. It was always the same. The whining, the complaints, with every man seeming to drag his feet at each damn order. They all seemed to think it was some sort of game. Well, perhaps it was, but Kroner was sickened by his own apparent lack of control over these tough professionals. Without Inglis his own position seemed to have changed too. Now he was the junior officer, and was treated accordingly.

  The helicopter took off from the beach and roared crabwise above the pier and then curved away towards the shining cleft between the islands. Soon its pilot would be back in his spacious wardroom in some carrier, the Hibiscus and this stupid place forgotten. This was not the navy. It was nothing! He swung back towards the chattering seamen. ‘Silence there! Remember where you are!’

  Tasker barked, ‘Right turn!’ The men shuffled rebelliously on the hot steel and then marched in single file towards the gangway, where Kroner saw with surprise that another officer was standing amidst a pile of suitcases, staring around him as if he had never seen a ship before in his life.

  McCord, the duty quartermaster, ambled across and saluted. ‘New ensign reported aboard, sir. Replacement for Mister Inglis.’ He sucked his teeth dubiously. ‘Newer than a fresh dollar, I should think, sir!’

  Kroner stared past him with sudden happiness. ‘Keep your opinions to yourself, McCord.’ A new officer, and an ensign at that! It was too good to be true. He saw the ensign was holding his fistful of orders, looking for someone to drop them on so that he could join the ship officially. Kroner hitched his gunbelt and stepped aft to greet him, his face set to mask his unexpected pleasure.

  The young ensign saluted. ‘Come aboard to join, sir.’

  He was a round-faced, cheerful-looking youngster, with a humorous mouth and remarkably innocent eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Kroner made a point of keeping his voice casual and unfriendly. He skimmed through the crumpled flimsy and grunted: ‘Replacement for Inglis. Well, he was killed out here, so you watch your step.’ That was just right. Knowing and tough. Just right.

  But the youth merely smiled shyly. ‘What a mess, eh?’

  Kroner was confused. ‘I’m Kroner, the exec is out on the freighter, and the captain’s ashore someplace.’ He stared irritably at the ensign, who was looking around the deck with amused candour.

  ‘Well? Who the hell are you?’ Kroner tapped his
foot impatiently.

  The ensign looked down at the folded papers in Kroner’s hand as if to say that all his necessary information was there contained. instead he said cheerfully: ‘Maddox, sir. Keith Maddox.’

  Kroner groaned. ‘Not another. There’ll be a bigger mix-up than ever now.’ He ignored the puzzled expression on the newcomer’s face and said off-handedly, ‘The exec’s name is Maddox, you see.’

  The boy nodded with sudden gravity. ‘Yes, he’s my brother.’

  Kroner’s jaw dropped. ‘Hell! Does he know about this?’

  Maddox junior shook his head. ‘Not a thing. I changed places with the ensign who should have come. I thought it might be fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ Kroner grinned. ‘Oh, brother!’

  ‘What’s the captain like?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ Kroner’s mind was busy. The atmosphere between Maddox and the captain had grown steadily more strained and brittle. The arrival of another member of the Maddox family might take the weight off the other officers in several ways. The O.O.D. rota would be better, and the exec, who was like a bear with a sore head since his conflict with Gunnar, might work off his rage elsewhere. Kroner beamed. ‘Welcome aboard, Mister Maddox!’

  The boy regarded him with wide, innocent eyes. ‘My friends call me Pip,’ he said.

  Kroner swallowed hard. Pip would get along just fine. Like hell he would. ‘Well, follow me and I’ll show you around, er, Pip.’

  McCord watched them go and then looked down at the young ensign’s expensive leather cases. If they were still prepared to send officers to replace gaps in the ship’s strength it meant that the Hibiscus was available for duty for some time yet. McCord kicked at one of the cases and spat over the rail. This piece of information would go down well in the fo’c’sle, he thought glumly.

  * * *

  Mike Bella stood quite still at the top of the salt-encrusted ladder and listened hard for several minutes. The old wrecked ship which lay across Payenhau’s sandbar hung at a greater angle than it appeared from seaward, so that Bella had to keep one hand to steady his panting body as he waited and listened on the broken and crumbling bridge deck. He could hear his own breathing and the pounding of his heart, whilst the sea noises seemed lost and muffled beyond the old and rusting hull. He had made quite sure he was not followed, and now that he had reached his objective he felt unsure and even frightened.

  It had all started after his meeting with the Chinese skipper on that run ashore with Pirelli. This feeling of being doubly trapped, a man in a web of his own making.

  That night, after he had left the strange Chinese eating house, with his brain buzzing with fresh hope and half-frightened schemes, he had met Chief Tasker and some of the men from the ship, and heard what Pirelli had done. Without enthusiasm he had joined in the search, for his mind had been elsewhere, with the girl in Hong Kong. But Pirelli’s sudden and violent departure had been one thing, this new turn of events was something else. There was vague and garbled talk of rape and assault, of Pirelli’s half-crazed dash up the hillside after his discovery by a military patrol, and that could be dangerous. If it was proved that Bella had given him the leave pass, things could get worse in that direction. And right now Bella needed to keep out of trouble.

  The Chinese skipper had told him that he had friends in Hong Kong, among whom were the girl’s own family. He had heard all the details of Bella’s fruitless attempt to get married, had even met Peach and promised her that he would find Bella and try to help both of them to come together.

  Bella had been dazed and confused by this sudden change of events. He had tried to find out more, to gain the man’s real confidence. When he had asked outright how the skipper had discovered his whereabouts and matched up the scanty information, the big Chinese sailor had merely shrugged and said: ‘Our world is small. We survive on our knowledge.’ Bella had had to be content with it.

  Then that night on the hillside Pirelli had stepped calmly from some bushes, without a sign of panic or surprise, smoking a cigarette and with a rifle beneath his arm like an amiable hunter. Bella had lost his temper, had yelled at Pirelli to return to the ship with him, before anything else happened.

  Pirelli had squatted on the roadside and stared up at him with calm amusement. ‘Save yer breath, Mike. I’ve done it for sure this time!’

  ‘That girl, the one you——’

  ‘Oh her!’ Pirelli showed his teeth in the darkness. ‘A nice bit of tail she was.’ He became strangely excited and confidential. ‘I let on that I was goin’ to let her go, you see?’ He then bellowed with laughter, so that Bella peered anxiously down the quiet road, half expecting to see a startled patrol. ‘Then I took her some place behind them shacks and knocked some sense into her!’

  Bella’s voice had been shocked. ‘She was only a kid!’

  ‘So what? She was ready for it, and I gave it to her good!’ He had leapt to his feet and gripped Bella’s jacket with sudden force. ‘Come back to the ship did you say? Why, you stupid little bastard, they’d skin me alive!’

  Then he had told Bella about Regan and the rifle. The lieutenant had jumped from a jeep and come blundering up the hillside, shouting Pirelli’s name and cursing every bush and boulder which had blocked his path. He had been so angry that he had not apparently heard Pirelli’s stealthy approach until it was too late.

  Pirelli had said proudly: ‘I clobbered him with a rock. Pity I couldn’t have had a few words with him first!’ Again that loud laugh, a gust of madness in the cool darkness.

  But Bella had been strangely relieved by the news. After all, if Pirelli had done half of these things, it was enough to take everybody’s mind off a mere leave pass. Rape, assault, desertion, they clicked into line like tombstones. But then Pirelli had dripped his bomb.

  ‘They wouldn’t have known about me, ’cept for you!’ He had shaken Bella playfully by the jacket, a big dog worrying a puppy. ‘I went back to that swill-joint to look for you an’ your Chink friends.’ He laughed more quietly. ‘But I went round to that window, behind the screen. I didn’t want to be seen.’

  Bella had licked his lips, suddenly cold. ‘So? Where do I come in?’

  ‘I heard, Mike. I heard! Them bastards offerin’ to smuggle that Chink broad of yours from Hong Kong, just for little old you, right?’

  ‘What of it?’ He had tried to sound unworried.

  ‘That’s a very good question, old friend. Why are they doin’ it for you? What do they want in return, hey?’

  ‘Nothing. I—I mean, not much.’ Bella’s nerve almost cracked as he realised the full implication of Pirelli’s hard questions. To think of him outside that quiet window, listening and scheming, with his face still scratched by the girl he had dragged up the hillside, stripped and raped within yards of her own home. He was mad, suddenly and terrifyingly, with the suddenness of a shock or a shaft of light.

  Pirelli had continued almost soothingly: ‘Be yer age, Mike. You are the captain’s yeoman, you see despatches, hear things that no one else does.’ He had twisted the jacket viciously. ‘What are they after?’

  ‘Just a few details. They want to know if the Hibiscus is sailing or not, and things like that!’ He had wriggled like a pinned rabbit. ‘Hell, it’s nothing really! They’re probably doing a bit of smuggling on the side!’

  Pirelli had released him. ‘Could be. I couldn’t care less if they’re smuggling Hitler in their lousy boat! But you can let me know too what’s goin’ on, see? If they can get your broad in, they can get me out!’

  Then they had heard a jeep grinding up the hill, and Pirelli had grabbed up his rifle and made ready to go. Then he had paused. ‘Finally, Mike, don’t forget what I know about you. You meet me in a couple of days aboard that wreck in the bay. If I’m not there, leave some food in one of the bridge cabins. Call there every day until I meet you, got it?’ His eyes had gleamed fiercely in the distant headlights. ‘Otherwise, Mister Bella, I’ll do for you too! It’s a very small island!’

 
Bella had returned fearfully to the ship. It had been alive with scuttlebutt and speculation, but nobody had gone for him. Even Regan seemed unwilling to bring up the question of the leave passes, and appeared to have worries of his own.

  Bella had been torn between informing on Pirelli’s proposed meeting place and doing as the man had told him. But his mind refused to cope with Pirelli’s sudden change, and revolved instead around the possibility of being reunited with Peach. The Chinese skipper had been quite cheerful about the prospect. ‘When you know when and where your ship is going, I or my friends can smuggle her after you, see? Take her to Taiwan, and you can get married, or do what you will!’ It sounded so simple. All the same, he would have to be careful. But the thought of touching her again, even in secret, made the other problems seem faint and unimportant.

  Until now, that is. The old wreck seemed alive with creaks and tiny movements. Weed and fungus trailed from passageway and stanchions alike. Even after the years abandoned and picked clean by scavengers, it was still a ship. A ghost ship, with mocking, empty doors and buckled plates, but a place still alive from its long dead occupants.

  This was Bella’s second visit. Almost terrified he stepped into the first cabin, once used by the vessel’s master. It was now merely a big tin box, red-rusted and stained, its only port clouded by dirt and blown salt. He peered around in the semi-darkness and then almost fell as he heard a sharp, metallic click beside him.