Path of the Storm

by Douglas Reeman

  Gunnar nodded, the sense of Maddox’s decision seeping through his shocked mind. ‘She’ll be able to give covering fire from there.’

  Tasker looked hard at his captain. ‘You’ve sure had one helluva battle up here, sir. You’ve done right well.’ He looked up as Sergeant Rickover clumped through the dust and rubble. ‘Where’s my drunken buddy, sir?’ His thin mouth tightened as he saw the look in Gunnar’s eyes. ‘I see, sir.’

  Gunnar pointed to the foot of the inner wall. ‘Chief Anders is there. See that he’s picked up before we leave.’

  Tasker’s face showed a rare sign of inner emotion. ‘I’ve known Walt Anders for twelve years, sir. It don’t seem possible——’ He tightened his jaw and said harshly, ‘I’ll call up some of my landing party to clear this lot.’ He gestured with his bayonet. ‘I’ve got an M-60 mounted halfway down the hill. It’ll sweep away any of the bastards who are still around!’

  Half a dozen helmeted sailors crowded through the gates, and Tasker added: ‘I reckon you’re about all in, Captain. You go back to the ship an’ I’ll hold on here.’ He gave a sad smile as Ensign Maddox limped into view, an empty rifle in his hand. ‘Jesus, Mister Maddox, your brother’ll be glad to see you in one piece!’

  The ensign tried to smile back. ‘God, look at all these bodies!’

  Tasker said unfeelingly: ‘There’s more than a few of ’em on the hillside. They weren’t expectin’ the old Hibiscus to catch ’em on the jump!’

  Pip Maddox swayed and Tasker seized his arm. ‘Bear up! The boys are watchin’ you, sir!’ He gave the young officer’s arm a squeeze. ‘Hell, sir, the goddamn flag is still up, ain’t it? What more d’you want?’

  Rickover watched gravely as the first stretcher came down the slope. ‘What d’you aim to do, sir?’ He saw his words acting across Gunnar’s lined face. ‘The Chinks will have a go as soon as it’s dark. They’ll bring up the mortars and smash your ship to bits!’

  Gunnar tried to think. Close your eyes and you could imagine that everything was as before. The hot, unwinking sun across your face, the tang of salt. There was no more firing, and somewhere far off there was a goat crying to be milked.

  He shook himself. ‘I can’t do any more, Sergeant. Without men we can’t hold the citadel, and even with luck on our side it may not be possible to get clear of the channel.’

  ‘We’re pulling out then?’ Rickover’s voice was casual but he could see the effect of his words. He could have called it retreat from the answering bitterness in Gunnar’s words.

  ‘Yes, pulling out.’ His voice quivered with the cold anger inside him. ‘I’ve lost a fifth of the crew I came with. Good, ordinary, uncomplicated men who did as I told them because that’s what they joined for.’ He looked down at the carnage as if to torture himself further. ‘And this is what they got. What I gave them!’

  O’Brien, unwounded and unmarked to the last, marched across the courtyard, three rifles hanging across his shoulder. He stopped and said evenly, ‘That’s the lot, sir!’

  Gunnar nodded. ‘You did well, O’Brien. You all did.’

  The big Texan grinned uncomfortably. ‘I reckon we’ll all get medals for this.’ He closed his dust-rimmed eyes. ‘I kin just hear it. “Anchors Aweigh” bein’ played by the leatherneck band, an’ the admiral beamin’ all over his pan and sayin’, “Here’s yer medal, O’Brien, fer bustin’ up my friggin’ ship!”’ He went off chuckling to himself, his boots kicking the dust across the faces of the dead Chinese.

  Rickover watched the torn emotions on Gunnar’s features. ‘You see, sir? There’s nothing “ordinary” about men like that!’

  Gunnar shrugged. ‘Well, we might as well follow the others.’ It was final. The finish.

  Someone had recovered the whaleboat, and in silence he allowed himself to be ferried across to the waiting ship. Men lounged by the uncovered guns, and cigarette smoke mingled with that which still hovered above the hot muzzles. Empty cartridge cases lay scattered likes fools’ gold across the blistered decks, and he saw the black stains below the bridge, the tell-tale punctures of the mortar bombs.

  Maddox met him at the rail. He was different in some way, but Gunnar no longer trusted himself to assess anything clearly. The exec saluted and Gunnar saw the long red scar on his thick forearm.

  ‘I’m keeping the men at battle stations, Captain, but I’m trying to rustle up some food for them.’ Impulsively he reached out and seized Gunnar’s hands in his own. ‘I’m sorry, Captain I’m sorry about everything!’

  Gunnar looked past him, seeing vaguely that all the men were looking at him, their stained and tired faces curious and without hostility. Gunnar heard himself say: ‘Thank you for coming back. You did a good job.’

  Maddox forced a grin. ‘I’m not sure you’ll agree when you hear that I’ve lost the port prop, sir.’ He helped Gunnar across the rail, hovering around him, watching his every move. ‘I guess I’ll learn ship handling the hard way!’

  Gunnar turned and looked back at the quiet hills and the distant wall of the citadel. The discarded bodies, ugly and without dignity, the burned-out jeep by the gates. And above it all the gay patch of colour from Old Glory. He recalled Tasker’s flat comment, ‘The goddamn flag is still up, ain’t it?’

  Regan and Kroner had appeared beside Maddox, and they too seemed like strangers. Regan said: ‘Welcome back, sir. Sorry we were too late for the big party.’

  Gunnar could not face them. Their concern, their pity for what he had done was tearing him apart. They could have thrown his gesture back in his face, and stood aside from the man who would finally pay for his reckless and misguided beliefs.

  Maddox said thickly: ‘Where’s Connell? I’ve got a couple of wounded down aft for him to look at.’

  With sudden shock Gunnar realised that the doctor had not returned.

  Rickover said quietly: ‘He ran off, sir. I’m afraid he was too quick for me.’

  The other officers exchanged uneasy glances, and Kroner asked in an awed tone, ‘What, deserted?’

  Rickover shook his head. ‘Not deserted, sir. He just came apart. It was too much for him.’

  Gunnar’s eyes narrowed as he stared across the smooth water towards the black shadows of the west channel. It would not be easy with one screw. It was a pity they couldn’t go back the way Maddox had brought the ship, through the narrow, impossible east channel. Even now he could not believe that Maddox had managed it. But it would be impossible with a crawling, side-slipping ship, and by now the enemy had probably hauled up some weapons to seal the tiny channel for good and all.

  He wondered what the girl was doing right at this moment, What she was thinking of him, of what had happened.

  But time was running away like dry sand, he must hold on for a few more hours. After that … He blinked away the film from his eyes and said: ‘We were under radio silence, but the admiral will still be expecting his usual broadcast from Jago’s transmitter. I think Yi-Fang intended to send the normal clearance to allay suspicion, but now that the radio’s been smashed he’ll have to try another plan.’

  Maddox asked slowly, ‘Won’t they be looking for us, sir?’ He waved his hand uncertainly. ‘I mean, we were expected in Taiwan.’

  Gunnar shrugged, ‘The typhoon would have put us off course. I expect a hell of a lot of ships were scattered by that. They’ll be slow to check up on just one small unit. No doubt they’ve got a recce plane somewhere about, following the storm just to make sure.’ He was finding the physical effort of thought almost too much. ‘No, my guess is that Yi-Fang will hurry up his takeover bid as from now. He knows we can’t hold the citadel without help. If he’s got half the sense I think he has, he’ll be moving up his main force.’

  Maddox opened his eyes wide. ‘What, more of ’em?’

  Regan nodded. ‘It follows. They have to do something drastic if they’re to make good the first move. Once in absolute control they can scream to the world that they’ve got their independence and that they’re allying
themselves to Red China, who just happen to have troops hanging around to give a hand!’ He looked hard at the captain. ‘What do you think we ought to do, sir?’

  There was a silence and Gunnar could feel them all looking at him, their tired faces bonded together with their personal suffering and despair.

  ‘We’ll run for it.’ Gunnar’s words were like pieces of ice. ‘There’s nothing more we can do.’ His voice hardened. ‘If they don’t want our help, they can all go to hell.’

  He spoke with such vehemence that Maddox studied him With fresh concern. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘What d’you mean, “no”?’ Gunnar felt the anger welling up again. An argument now would finish him. ‘That’s what you wanted in the first place, isn’t it?’

  Maddox nodded. ‘It was. Things have changed.’

  ‘Nothing’s different, Bob. I led you all into this, and there are enough dead men to prove I was wrong!’

  A lookout’s voice halted Maddox’s reply. ‘There’s a crowd of ’em comin’ along the beach, Cap’n!’

  Gunnar snatched some glasses and levelled them on the long procession of figures as it wended its way along the strip of sand below the coast road. These were not soldiers, nor were they any part of the trained guerrillas which had attacked the citadel.

  Gunnar could see the small group at the head of the column, Tao-Cho with a look of concentration on his birdlike features as he drove his staff into the sand before each determined step. There were women and children too, more and more, until they edged the beach like an endless bank of small trees.

  ‘What do you make of it, sir?’ Maddox sounded guarded. ‘Is it a trick of some sort?’

  Gunnar moved to the rail and beckoned to the men in the whaleboat. ‘I don’t know yet, but I’m going to meet him.’

  Maddox peered at him with surprise. ‘What, after what’s happened? Let me go, sir!’

  Gunnar smiled. ‘No, Bob.’ He came to a decision. ‘But come with me if you like.’

  Regan called: ‘I’ll cover you, sir. One false move an’ I’ll mow the lot of ’em down.’

  Once more Gunnar found himself on the warm sand, his legs and muscles craving for rest and release. Behind him he could hear the clatter of ammunition as Tasker’s machine-gun crew moved their weapon below the pier. This time there was no pretence, no hope of compromise. Gunnar tried to read the feelings in his own mind, but there was nothing, just a cold resignation, a last hold of duty.

  Tao-Cho halted, and like a slow tide the long column of villagers and children welled up on either side of him and the elders, silent, watchful, and without defiance.

  Tao-Cho lifted his long staff and with obvious effort broke it on the rocks near his sandalled feet. Then in a thin, emotional tone he said, ‘I have come, Captain. I wish to make my peace with you.’

  In the silence Gunnar could hear Maddox’s hard breathing and the lap of water along the beach. He felt neither pride nor a sense of any achievement. Perhaps if it had happened when he had made his first contact with the old headman it might have been different. But then he had known his own misgivings too. Now they faced each other without guile or hope. There was shame, but there was understanding.

  Gunnar said coldly, ‘Your gesture will make no difference now.’

  Tao-Cho’s hooded eyes flickered like yellow stones in the sunlight. ‘I have brought my people to you for protection. There are many women because their men are away with the fishing boats. But there are some men also, and we will do as you direct. Soon all the other villages will follow my example.’

  In spite of his outward control the words had cost Tao-Cho a great deal, and Gunnar said quietly: ‘It makes no difference. There is a greater power than yours in control now. Those you chose to trust will have no quarter left for you if you come to me for help.’

  Tao-Cho said simply: ‘They have already killed many of my people. I know now that their tongues were false.’ He made a helpless gesture. ‘There is no room for independence it seems.’

  Gunnar smiled gravely. ‘There never was, Tao-Cho.’ He saw the people on the edges of the crowd craning forward to hear his words. Some understood, others translated for those at the rear.

  Gunnar added slowly: ‘I have done what I can. Instead of help and understanding I received lies and threats. My men have been killed, my cause has been dishonoured.’

  Tao-Cho said with something of his old power, ‘It was not only my people which disbelieved your words, Captain.’

  Gunnar thought of Jago and the far-off chain of command. ‘That is true. But you can see my ship, you know what I have left. Why should I ask my men to die for nothing?’

  Tao-Cho held out his arms, and Gunnar suddenly saw him as a desperate, frightened old man. ‘These children, Captain, would you leave them now?’

  Gunnar kicked at the sand, his eyes aching with the dull pain in his head. It was unfair, it was so very unfair to use such means now. ‘What are you telling me, Tao-Cho? Do you accept that your island is too important to be ignored by either side?’

  ‘I do understand. And I know too that the man Bolod has soldiers coming even as we speak.’

  Gunnar stiffened. ‘So you knew what Bolod was doing?’

  ‘A little. I waited to test his words.’ Tao-Cho looked at Gunnar’s cold eyes. ‘He was known as Tsung.’

  Gunnar turned towards the glittering sea and made himself stare at the friendly water. Tsung, the man he had spoken with, had touched, had even allowed to be with him on the islet to the north of Payenhau. One thought crowded upon another, like brush and dry grass crumbling before a forest fire. And he had sent the girl into his hands. At that fleeting moment he knew he would rather that Lea Burgess were dead than to leave her at Bolod’s mercy.

  ‘This ship, what do you know of it?’ His voice had a sharp, metallic ring, and he could feel Maddox staring at him. ‘Well, speak up, man!’

  Tao-Cho seemed to wither before his hard stare. ‘I do not know, Captain. But it is coming. Yi-Fang’s men are staying by their camp until the extra men arrive. Then they will kill everyone who opposes them.’

  Gunnar said harshly, ‘And if I take my ship away, my leaders will come and destroy this island, and Yi-Fang, and everything else!’ He waved his hand with a short, final thrust. ‘They will not survive for long!’

  Tao-Cho clasped his hands. ‘Please, please, Captain!’ Somewhere in the crowd a child began to whimper without understanding. ‘You cannot leave us to die!’

  Gunnar turned and faced Maddox. ‘What can I do? I can’t ask our men to fight now, after all this!’

  Maddox bit his lip. ‘I know it’s your decision, Captain. But I think you’ll find there’ll be no argument from the rest of us!’

  Gunnar faced the old man. ‘Take your people to the citadel. Get every man, and woman as well, and arm them with what weapons you can find on the corpses below the walls. Stay there, and shoot at anyone who comes near. I can’t, I won’t promise you anything.’ He faltered. ‘But I’ll do what I can. Without support, and with you turning against them, the rebels can’t achieve much on their own.’

  The headman sank on his knees, and Gunnar thought he saw tears in his small, hooded eyes. ‘We will not forget, Captain!’ The rest of his words were drowned by sudden handclapping from the watching villagers at his back.

  Not cheering, but polite, determined clapping. It was unnerving, but seemed in some strange way to sum up the great gulf between the two ways of life.

  Maddox said breathlessly, ‘You sure pulled him down a peg or two!’

  Bitterly Gunnar replied: ‘I found no pleasure in taking away his pride. But it’s too late for dignity now.’ He stared desperately at the ship and its small wisp of smoke above the stacks, ‘It’s just about late for everything!’

  Once in the open water they could turn and run. No one would accuse him, and in any case the blame was already loaded at his door. Somewhere to the west was a ship, or maybe several ships. There was too much at stake for either side t
o back down now. The Reds had been told what they had to achieve. Gunnar had only himself to ask.

  Ten minutes later he was back on the open bridge, the p.a. microphone in his hand.

  ‘Now hear this.’ He paused, his eyes fixed on the helmeted heads of the gunners below the bridge. Inwardly he prayed that the girl was already dead, released from the suffering and pain from which there was no escape. He cleared his throat. ‘This is the captain speaking. You have seen and heard what is happening. There are people here who need our help, and it is our duty to give them our aid.’ He faltered, hating the words which felt barren on his lips. ‘I do not know what is waiting for us, but whatever it is we are in a bad condition for a real fight. I can no longer tell you to give your lives for nothing, I can only ask …’ His words died away as a burst of cheering ran along the maindeck.

  Maddox grinned up at him, his hands clasped together like a boxer’s. ‘That a good enough answer, Captain!’

  Gunnar turned his face away and walked stiffly to the voice-pipe. ‘Report to me when the engine room is ready to proceed!’

  There was a hoarse shout from the deck as supported by a protesting Sergeant Rickover, Jago hopped to the rail, his helmet back on his head, his teeth bared with effort. Looking up at the bridge he shouted, ‘If you think I’m going to leave the citadel in charge of a lot of goddamn heathens you’ve got the wrong boy, Captain!’

  The grinning sailors lowered the two marines into the whaleboat and continued cheering as Jago was pulled ashore. Several Chinese ran to help him, but with angry determination Jago pushed them away, and using one of the boat oars like a stave began to stagger up the beach.

  Regan shook his head. ‘Jesus, what a scene!’

  Kroner looked up at the bowed silhouette by the screen and said quietly: ‘I think Jago understands at last. It’s the least he can do now!’

  18

  Pirelli

  PIRELLI SWORE ALOUD as a sharp stone jabbed into his elbow, but he continued to push himself along the ground with his head just protruding above the short gorse. It had taken him several minutes to realise that he was on one of the smaller islets of Payenhau, but driven by heat and desperation he had given up caring. He was lying on the flat top of a small hill, and somewhere behind and below his position lay the Osprey. From a sign of hope and escape she had changed into a useless mass of timber when the engine had gurgled and died for the last time. He had savagely thrown the anchor into the shallow water and lowered himself on to the smooth sandy beach, half expecting a bullet to smash him into the ground with each cautious step.