Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

  He saw Hammond talking with his gun crew and automatically straightened his back. Corbett was right about one thing. It was no use being bitter. It had got well beyond that stage, he thought grimly.

  IN THE PALE MORNING sunlight the bay looked peaceful and deserted. At its southern end the steep-sided headland cast a deep shadow on to the milky water, and from the thickly wooded shoreline which fringed the beach there rose a steady steamlike haze as the warmth penetrated the rain-swollen leaves and tangled creeper beneath.

  The Porcupine tugged gently at her anchor, her shadow touching that of the headland, while at the other end of the bay the Grayling floated above her reflection like a scale model. The third gunboat, Shrike, had weighed before dawn, and under Corbett’s instructions had rounded the northern arm of the bay to investigate the coast road beyond. From the bay itself the road was invisible, cut off from the sea by a razor-backed ridge of low hills and the thick, lush jungle.

  Apart from the distant murmur of gunfire the scene was one of absolute peace. During the night the coastal current had carried the few pieces of scarred flotsam, and what bodies there might have been from the landing barges, clear away from the shore, so there was nothing to show from the brief, savage action.

  Corbett seemed unwilling to leave the bridge, or even to seek the comfort of his chair. As the sun cast more light and heat across the placid water so he became more restless and impatient.

  Trewin felt the growing warmth across his neck and the smoky stiffness of his face and arms. He looked at the clear, inviting water alongside and the patches of pale green weed which swayed playfully on the sandy bottom, and imagined his body moving through it, soaking away the dirt and noise of the battle.

  There was a mixed aroma of smells from both the galleys. Eggs and bacon and the spicy contrasts from the Chinese quarters. But the anti-aircraft guns were manned, and the slender muzzles moved occasionally from side to side, as if sniffing out possible enemies.

  Corbett said abruptly, “What the hell is the Army doing?”

  Trewin looked at him. “They must have heard the gunfire here last night. Perhaps they’re too busy inland?”

  Corbett stuck out his jaw. “Rubbish! They must have been informed that we were making a sweep along the coast. The very least they can do is come and see us, dammit!” He lifted his glasses and peered at the empty beach. “No wonder the bloody airfield got taken.”

  Mallory appeared on the bridge holding a large sandwich in one hand. “They’ll be Aussie troops hereabouts. They’ll have the job in hand all right.”

  “I hope your optimism is well founded.” Corbett shot him an irritated glance. “But it doesn’t help me.”

  Trewin found time to wonder how far the admiral had got with the other ships. They had heard aircraft during the night, but no sounds of gunfire from the sea. It was just as if each side was sitting back waiting to see what the other would do.

  Corbett said suddenly, “I want you to go ashore, Trewin. There’s a village about a mile inland. The Army have a command post there. Go and ask the C.O. what he wants us to do, and be quick about it. I don’t like sitting here waiting for the sky to fall.” He added, “If they don’t need us any more I’m heading back south, and fast!”

  Trewin stared at the beach. “Yes, sir.” He beckoned to a bosun’s mate. “Tell Petty Officer Kane to muster a landing party of six men with sidearms, and call away the motor boat.”

  Corbett muttered, “Take Hammond, too. You might need an interpreter.” He said with sudden anger, “My God, if I’ve put this ship in danger for nothing I shall raise hell when we reach base!”

  Ten minutes later Trewin and his small party waded through the cool water and on to the sand, while the boat turned and scurried back to the Porcupine.

  He glanced at his pocket compass and said, “Let’s get started, but have your weapons ready, just in case a few of those Japs managed to swim ashore last night.” He knew his voice was unusually harsh and that Hammond was watching him searchingly, but his mind was too busy with other things to care about that. He stepped through a fringe of salt-stained brush and started up the slope from the beach. It was hard going. It would be worse for fully laden soldiers, he thought.

  Once into the jungle of small, gnarled trees they could have been one hundred miles from the sea. A few birds shrilled and squawked in the distance, but they did not see a single movement.

  Petty Officer Kane kicked a scarlet fungus aside with a grunt of disgust. “Bloody dump! Enough to give you the squitters.”

  Hammond said quietly, “What’ll we do if we can’t find anyone?” He looked up at the criss-cross of branches through which the sun was hardly able to penetrate. The air was humid and clammy, so that his shirt was already sticking to his body.

  Trewin said shortly, “They’ll be here.” He hitched the unfamiliar pistol over to his hip and added, “Where’s that damned village?”

  They plodded up the slope in silence, while the thorns and low branches plucked at their arms and legs like vicious, eager claws.

  Towards the top of the ridge the trees thinned out and the sun swept down to add to their discomfort. Trewin said, “Take a breather.” He pulled out his binoculars. “I’ll have a look around.” He looked at Kane, “You come too, and bring your tommy-gun.”

  Hammond sat down on a flat stone while the six sailors of the party threw themselves into a patch of shade, breathless and grateful for the rest from this unfamiliar exercise.

  Trewin said, “I won’t be long, Sub. I should be able to see the road from up there.” He turned on his heel without waiting for a reply and pushed through the bushes with Kane at his back.

  Hammond tilted his cap over his eyes and stared at the tiny, busy insects which were already exploring his shoes. It was strange how easy it was to rely on everything Trewin said or did, he thought vaguely. He was quite unlike anyone he had ever met. He rarely seemed to smile or share his confidences, and he had an air of alert caution about him, like a wild animal surrounded by its natural enemies.

  When he had first joined the gunboat as first lieutenant, and Hammond could recall the exact moment, he had seemed like a man who had seen and done too much in a short time. Hammond had imagined that he would resent serving under a temporary officer, but quite the reverse had happened. Trewin was unlike Mallory, for instance, who from the moment he had stepped aboard had kept up a steady flow of criticism and complaint about the Navy in general and the British in particular.

  He tried to picture Trewin as he must have been before the war, but he could not visualise him as anything but what he was now. Even Corbett seemed content with him, and that was surprising. The captain had frequently and noisily disagreed with poor Foley, the previous first lieutenant. Foley had been an affable but not too intelligent officer, and it was quite impossible to see him playing Trewin’s role during the past few days, Hammond decided.

  Last night, for instance. He glanced quickly at the tired sailors. The rattle of tracers, and the terrifying scream of cannon shells whipping overhead, it had been far worse than he had believed it would be. But just before the guns had opened fire Trewin had spoken to him on the bridge telephone. His quiet, unemotional voice had acted as a buffer when the actual moment of danger had arrived. And afterwards in the noisy excitement and wild aftermath of battle Trewin had come to visit the gun position. He had been calm and cheerful, as if the whole thing had been part of a drill.

  He recalled too the moment when he had almost confided in Trewin about the girl in Singapore. It seemed stupid now, but at the time, with the smoke from the air raid drifting over the island like a pall, he had wanted to tell Trewin about her.

  A sailor rolled on his stomach and cocked his head nervously. He said, “They’re comin’ back, sir.”

  Hammond stood up thankfully and stretched his arms in the sunlight. His smile changed to shocked surprise as Trewin and the petty officer pushed through the bushes their faces streaming with sweat.

 
Between them, hanging like a limp puppet, was a young army lieutenant. His uniform was in tatters, and a revolver hung unheeded from a lanyard about his neck. His eyes and forehead were hidden under a filthy bandage, and his cheeks were covered in several days’ growth of beard.

  Trewin said sharply, “Here, you men! Carry him to the beach, and be quick about it!”

  The soldier groaned and rolled his head from side to side as the sailors lifted him from the ground.

  Trewin gripped the signalman who had been sent ashore to keep contact with the ship. “Bunts, run like hell for the beach and call up the Porcupine.” Hammond could see Trewin’s chest heaving from exertion, the small lines of strain around his eyes. “Tell the captain to up anchor at once. Tell him to recall Shrike, too.” He glanced back up the hill. “Christ, what a mess!”

  Hammond asked, “Did you find the Army?” He waited, feeling his mouth go dry. “What is it, Number One?”

  Trewin pulled a map from his belt and stared at it. Then he said quietly, “This section of the road is supposed to be controlled by the 50th Indian Brigade, or part of it.” He stuck the map carelessly inside his shirt. “Yes, I found them all right.” He walked after the sailors and added shortly, “The village has been burnt out. We found that poor devil crouching beside a useless radio set. I think he’s been blinded.” He spat out the words, “His men left him!”

  Petty Officer Kane slung the tommy-gun across one shoulder. “He’s delirious, sir. But if ’alf of what ’e says is true, we’re in a bad way.”

  “I—I don’t understand?” Hammond stared sideways at Trewin’s unshaven face. “Where did they all go?”

  Trewin replied savagely, “That poor, raving lieutenant was part of a battalion at Kota Bharu. They’ve been fighting and falling back, regrouping and falling back, since the whole thing started. Even now he doesn’t believe his men have run away!”

  Kane said angrily, “’E said there were tanks on the road. And ’is men ’ave never seen a bloody tank in their lives, can you imagine that?”

  “Tanks, retreats, what the bloody difference does it make now?” Trewin quickened his pace. “We’ve got the ship to worry about.” He steadied his voice with an effort and looked hard at Hammond. “The Japs are further south already!” He watched his words strike home. “They by-passed this sector yesterday!” He slammed his hands together. “Anyone left back here will go in the bag when the Japs start mopping up the stragglers.” He wiped his face wearily. “God knows how they missed the lieutenant when they came over the ridge, but he was lucky.”

  Kane muttered, “Not like them others, sir.” He shot Hammond a glance. “We found about a dozen Aussie soldiers on the edge of the village.” His voice shook with anger and barely suppressed horror. “Their ’ands were tied behind ’em! They were dead!”

  Hammond asked quietly, “Had they been shot?”

  Trewin had hurried ahead, but over his shoulder he called harshly, “Tell him, Kane! Tell him how the bastards had left them!”

  Kane looked away. “Their ’eads ’ad been cut off, sir! They was stuck on stakes by the side of the road…” He broke off, his normally impassive features sick with disgust.

  Breathless and gasping they reached the beach where the motor boat waited to receive them. The Grayling was already under way, and the Porcupine’s cable was bar-taut and ready to up anchor.

  Hammond sat with the soldier’s shoulders propped against his legs as the boat spurted towards the ship, his eyes fixed on the man’s loose, sun-dried mouth. On the opposite side of the small cockpit Trewin stared fixedly at the shore, his eyes cold and hard beneath his cap.

  The soldier’s body twisted in a sudden convulsion and he shouted, “Sergeant! Tell those men to march in step!” A thread of saliva ran down his chin as he continued in a flat, toneless voice, “Remember that this is the First Battalion, not the bloody sappers!”

  Trewin said, “Keep that man quiet, Sub.”

  One of the seamen muttered, “My God! Poor bastard!”

  As the boat reached the ship’s side and men jumped down to help the delirious soldier aboard, Trewin said, “Get the boat hoisted, Sub! I’m going to the bridge.”

  Hammond waited by the guardrails until the motor boat was lashed, still dripping, against her davits, then with a quick glance towards the empty beach ran up the bridge ladder. The deck was trembling as the ship gathered way, and from forward he could hear Dancy yelling at the anchor party. Corbett was in his chair, as if he had never moved, and Trewin was standing beside him on the gratings, his face hidden in shadow.

  Hammond heard Corbett say, “We should have been told. We were sent too far north.”

  Trewin replied, “It’s the most stupid piece of bungling I’ve ever seen!” He sounded calm, but his hands were bunched at his sides gripping his torn trousers as if for support. He continued, “The whole front must have collapsed. They’re falling back like a lot of bloody rabbits!”

  Corbett turned and looked up at him, his face expressionless. “Right now we have to get under way, Trewin. There’ll be time enough later to hear your interpretations of all this.”

  A look-out’s voice echoed around the bridge. “Aircraft, sir! Bearing green four five! Angle of sight two oh!”

  Trewin did not look round. “The admiral must have known, sir! He must have realised this could happen!”

  Corbett snapped, “Full ahead together!” Then he looked again at Trewin’s tall figure and said flatly, “We had our orders.”

  “I see.” Trewin turned and stared straight at the sun. “I’ll go aft to the A.A. guns.” It was as if he were forcing his thoughts into words.

  Hammond heard men running along the sidedecks, the rattle of voices across the bridge intercom, yet he felt unable to move.

  Trewin crossed the bridge in three strides and then paused, seeing Hammond for the first time. His voice was cold, like a stranger’s. “Well, Sub, you once asked me about war, remember?” His eyes were blazing like a man with fever. “So now you know!” He looked unwinkingly towards the distant growl of aircraft engines. “This is what it is all about!” He turned away and ran quickly down the ladder.

  Corbett’s voice cut into Hammond’s dazed thoughts like a knife. “Forget what you just heard, and attend to your duties!”

  Hammond climbed down to the deck and looked astern. The Grayling was gathering speed, her bows shrouded in spray as she crossed the Porcupine’s wake. Of the Shrike there was still no sign.

  He thought of Trewin’s cold anger, of the poor, helpless soldier across his knees in the boat. Through it all he heard Trewin’s words like an accusation… “This is what it’s all about!”

  And at that moment the guns started to fire.

  5 | Direct Hit

  THE RATING AT TREWIN’S SIDE said sharply, “Four aircraft, sir! Port quarter, angle of sight three oh!”

  Trewin did not raise his glasses. The aircraft were well out of range, and after turning in a wide circle were climbing rapidly towards the horizon and the sun. Four bright silver chips against the pale sky, the growl of their engines rising in time to their climb.

  There were still a few minutes more to wait, Trewin decided. There was a small breeze whipping across the battery deck, but it did little to ease the heat thrown back from the armoured gun mounting, and the small protected position beside the ammunition hatch where Trewin was crouching. From here he could supervise either the four-inch gun or, if required, the Oerlikons which were mounted on either side of the upperdeck, just abaft the funnel.

  He peered astern to watch the Grayling as she followed purposefully in the Porcupine’s white wake. They were less than a quarter of a mile apart and were steaming at full speed on the new southerly course. Further astern, her antiquated shape shrouded in haze, the little Shrike endeavoured to maintain her maximum speed, the smoke pouring from her thin funnel in a low, unbroken plume.

  Trewin saw the Grayling’s guns following the distant aircraft, and guessed that the third
gunboat would also be ready when the time came. Six four-inch guns between them, and with the additional power of the short-range weapons they might well give good account of themselves.

  He rested his palms on the hot metal surrounding the gun position and watched the seamen training their sights towards the enemy. The men who were so engrossed in their preparations were no longer faces as they had appeared when he had first stepped aboard. Now they were names and personalities, and already the strengths and weaknesses were beginning to show, like small parts of a large canvas.

  “X” gun grated slightly and the long grey muzzle tilted towards the dazzling sun. On either side of the gleaming breech the trainer and gunlayer eased their wheels very slowly and kept their eyes glued to their sights.

  Able Seaman Walker, the breechworker, banged his gloved hands together and muttered, “Come on, you bastards! Let’s be ’avin’ you then!” His black beard jutted through his anti-flash hood, and Trewin was reminded of a painting he had once seen of a jovial monk.

  He said, “They look like fighters. So watch your aim-off, and allow for a speed of three hundred knots.” He saw the layer and trainer glance at one another across the gun and added sharply, “They’ll come right out of the sun, so keep your heads and ignore everything else but the one in your sights.”

  Trewin turned aside as the communications rating called, “Barrage…commence!”

  Trewin heard the bells ringing beside the gunshield and automatically held his breath. The gun lurched back on its mounting with an ear-splitting roar. From forward the other gun also opened fire, and as Trewin lifted his glasses to watch the dirty brown smudges drift across the sun they were joined by other shell bursts from the ships astern.