Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

  Corbett stared at him. “That’s just it. She’s still there. I checked with my wife while we were in harbour.” He shook his head. “I wish she were out of it, believe me.” He watched the rising bow-wave sluice back through the hawsepipes and around the forward gun mounting. Then he said firmly, “We will have the destroyer Waltham to cover us from seaward. But it will have to be quick this time.”

  It always is, Trewin thought bitterly. He said, “Have you told base about Prawn and Beaver, sir? We’re at half strength now.”

  Corbett shrugged. “No to your first question. Radio silence is the thing at this stage. As to your other piece of pessimism, we can manage better without the others. We don’t want to attract attention.” In a rising tone he added, “Surely even you can see that?”

  Mallory clumped up the ladder from the chartroom before Trewin could retort, and Corbett swung round to face him. “You took your time, Pilot!” He glared at Mallory’s shape by the chart table. “Well, have you calculated what I asked?”

  Mallory said evenly, “Our E.T.A. at the Inlet will be 0430, sir.” He added, “Low water at that time.”

  “I know that.” Corbett joined him beside the table and rolled back the hood a few inches. “Signal Grayling to take the lead. She draws a foot less than we do. We will follow up when the tide gives us a better channel.”

  Trewin turned back towards the sea. He was thinking of that last time when the Porcupine had gone aground outside the Inlet. The captain was obviously taking no chances.

  He swung his glasses slowly over the port beam and tried to see the darkened shoreline through the steady rain. But they were standing too far out. Maybe that was just as well, he thought grimly. The Japs might have no intention of using their new landing to waste time striking north. The troops caught between their two armies would have to fight their way out anyway, so the Japs could well use their fifty-mile advantage to increase their march on Singapore.

  But surely to God they would be able to stop the Japs soon. In the narrowing strip of the Malay Peninsula the line would be shorter, easier to hold.

  He sensed that Corbett was again standing beside him and he asked quietly, “Where will we make a stand, sir?”

  Corbett took several seconds to reply. When he did his voice was calm, almost gentle. “We’re not, Trewin. That signal was from the admiral. It seems that we are going to abandon the peninsula altogether. Singapore is the fortress, and was after all the main purpose of our defence commitment.”

  Trewin felt his mouth go dry. “Just like that?”

  Corbett nodded firmly. “Just like that.”

  Trewin tried not to think of the hundreds of miles of hardfought jungle, the ships sent to the bottom in the face of persistent and carefully planned attacks. Of the pain and the hopeless bravery. He said, “So it was all for nothing!”

  Corbett lifted his glasses to watch the Grayling’s pale shape surging past to take the lead, her blunt bows throwing up the spray in a white curtain. He replied, “No sacrifice is in vain. No matter how great or how small.”

  Trewin clenched his hands and then let them drop at his sides. What was the point of trying to argue with Corbett? He was unreachable within himself.

  Corbett slid on to the chair, heedless of the rain which bounced from his cap and oilskin. If there were any doubts in his mind, the Porcupine’s captain concealed them very well.

  WITH HER ENGINES AT DEAD SLOW the Porcupine pushed stubbornly against the fierce offshore current, the swirling water on either side of the hull giving a false impression of urgency and speed.

  For the tenth time Corbett snapped his fingers and asked, “Time?”

  Mallory replied, “0445, sir.”

  Corbett muttered, “Where the hell is she? She should have been in and out by now!”

  Trewin moved his glasses very slowly from bow to bow. It was still very dark, although the rain had given way to a steady, soaking drizzle. But for it and the persistent cloud he might have been able to see something, but although the dawn was very close the actual line of the shore remained hidden and remote. The waiting was getting on his nerves. Corbett’s anxiety about the Grayling was more than justified, he thought. She had gone on ahead hours earlier with Corbett’s orders to carry out the first and main part of the evacuation of nonessential personnel.

  He blinked as another pattern of dull red flashes outlined the hills inland. All the way up the coast it had been hard not to watch the ominous reflections of duelling artillery and the glow of burning trees.

  They had arrived off the Inlet ahead of time, and while the ship stayed in deep water, steaming in a wide circle, every look-out had strained his eyes for the Grayling’s returning shadow, so that Corbett could go in to complete the task. He could not enter the Talang River without waiting for Grayling’s return, as it was quite impossible for two craft to pass in its treacherous bends and deceptive shallows.

  Trewin wondered why Corbett had not taken the plunge from the first and accompanied Grayling, instead of waiting for the dawn light and an extra foot of water.

  Was it his imagination or was it already lighter? He peered over the screen and saw the restless gunners behind the four-inch and the pale blob of Hammond’s cap. He listened to the sporadic rattle of machine-guns and watched a flare drifting palely above the headland. No doubt the enemy were probing with their patrols again and the defenders of the river line were searching for them in the treacherous tangle of jungle below the hills.

  Corbett snapped, “Give me a course for the centre channel, Pilot. I can’t wait any longer.” He sounded hoarse.

  Mallory said at length, “Two five two, sir.”

  Corbett grunted. “Very good. Bring her round and increase to half-speed.” To Trewin he said, “We’ve still got a mile before we are committed to the last approach. Grayling should be showing herself by then, eh?” Half to himself he added harshly, “That ass Nye! If he gets stuck halfway downstream I’ll have something to say about it!”

  The gunboat gathered way, her powerful screws sending a steady tremble up through the bridge and the limbs of the men at their action stations.

  The starboard bridge look-out suddenly jerked upright behind his glasses. “Sir! A light in the water!” He fumbled for words. “It’s gone now, but I think it was a red light!”

  Corbett leaned forward on his chair. “I don’t see anything!” Then, “Slow ahead together!”

  Trewin stood beside the look-out and peered over the wet steel. “Are you sure? What sort of light?”

  The look-out sounded confused. “It was red, sir. Yes, I’m sure it was there. Very low down. Very small.”

  His voice faltered as Corbett said impatiently, “Well, it’s not there now!”

  Mallory called, “There are no buoys hereabouts either.”

  The look-out said stubbornly, “It was too small for a buoy.”

  Corbett twisted in his chair as if it was restricting him. “Oh, for God’s sake! We’ll be here all morning at this rate!” To Trewin he added, “Go forrard and see if you can see anything from the stem. The drizzle might not mist your glasses from there.” He called after him, “And get a damn move on!”

  Trewin climbed down the ladder and hurried along the spray-dashed forecastle where he found Petty Officer Dancy already leaning over the guardrail, his figure crouched like a runner waiting for the gun.

  “Anything, Buffer?” Trewin dropped on one knee and pulled his glasses from inside his oilskin.

  “Nah. I came when I heard the look-out, but it looks just as bloody horrible as it always does.”

  Corbett’s voice, metallic through a megaphone, made them both look back at the bridge. “Well, is there anything, Number One? I’m still waiting!”

  Trewin almost fell as Dancy seized his arm and pointed excitedly. “I saw it, for God’s sake! Look, sir, fine on the port bow!”

  It was little more than a pale red glow, and appeared to be half submerged in the water.

  Dancy added in a
grim tone, “I think it’s a lifejacket lamp, sir. There must be some poor bugger in the drink.”

  “Maybe.” Trewin strained his eyes through the drizzle and wondered why they had not seen the light from the moment the look-out had reported it. It must have been hidden, but by what?

  With sudden apprehension he clambered to his feet and ran back towards the bridge. As he reached the gun mounting he cupped his hands and yelled upwards towards Corbett’s hunched silhouette. “Sir! Use the searchlight!”

  Corbett shouted, “Are you mad? We’ll be visible for miles!” But something in Trewin’s voice made him reconsider, and as Trewin ran back to the bows the bridge searchlight cut the darkness apart in a blinding, glacier beam which threw Dancy’s shadow ahead of the ship like a grotesque figurehead.

  The light was only switched on for a few seconds, and as Trewin clung to the guardrail he imagined for one terrible moment that the ship was taking the wrong course and heading straight for a weed-covered sandbar.

  Far away he heard Corbett yelling, “Full astern together! Emergency full speed!” But his eyes remained riveted on the long, slime-covered thing which lay across the Porcupine’s path, and as the deck jerked violently to the reversed thrust of the screws he knew it was the upturned keel of the Grayling.

  The bobbing red light came from her stern, where a sodden corpse in a lifejacket twisted and turned with the current, caught firmly in one of the triple rudders.

  Dancy yelled, “Get back, sir! We’re going to ram her!”

  Without the searchlight Trewin’s eyes were momentarily useless, and he had vague impressions of men throwing themselves to the deck and the whole ship shuddering like a mad thing in her efforts to pull clear.

  When she struck he felt the pain of the collision lance up through his chest as if he too had been injured, and he lay quite still for several seconds listening to the scream and scrape of torn metal, the grinding embrace which seemed endless, until with a final convulsion the Porcupine jerked clear and backed away from her stricken consort.

  Trewin lurched to his feet and watched the other hull rolling and yawing in a great pattern of exploding air bubbles. He could smell the stench of oil fuel, the harsher odours of fire and charred paintwork.

  He tore his eyes away and ran after Dancy. Through screen doors and down half-lit ladders, his mind only barely recording his urgent journey. He saw the deserted messdeck and garish pin-ups on the lockers. Freshly laundered clothing hanging across deckhead pipes, and a half-eaten sandwich forgotten beside the mess radio.

  Right forward, beyond the collision bulkhead, he stopped, and with Dancy listened to the surging roar of inrushing water. He stared at the small, spurting jets around the edges of the massive watertight door and stood back as Dancy began to hammer the clips hard home.

  Torches were flashing through the half-light, and he heard Hammond call, “The lower store is flooding, Number One! I’ve got the men sealing it off right now.”

  Trewin turned wearily. “The cable locker is flooded, too. She feels heavier in the bows already.” He swore savagely. “The Grayling never got to the Inlet. She could not have turned over in the shallows beyond the channel.”

  He was half shocked and ashamed by the sense of relief which had replaced his first horror. For one terrible moment he had pictured the Grayling’s hull packed with helpless refugees as she turned over. Deep down he knew that he did not even care about them. Just one. And she was still in Talang.

  His voice sounded calm as he said, “Carry on here, Sub. I’ll send you some men from the engine room to help with shoring up.”

  Hammond said hoarsely, “She was capsized! I couldn’t believe it!”

  A seaman skidded to a halt and said, “Beg pardon, sir, but the cap’n wants you on the bridge at once.”

  Trewin nodded and then said to Hammond, “It might have been us if we had gone in first.” He rested his hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t help those poor devils, but it’s still a thought to carry around.”

  The seaman was still there. “The cap’n sounded as if he wanted you urgently, sir!”

  Surprisingly, Corbett seemed almost cool as Trewin made his report. In the growing light his eyes were watching the bows and the sluggish lap of water around the dripping anchors. He said, “Grayling must have hit a mine. As she drifted clear I saw a great gash on her port bow. She always was top-heavy.” He sighed. “But she was a good ship.” Then he continued more briskly, “We seem to have escaped with little more than a buckled frame and one hole just abaft the stem. The storeroom below the forrard messdeck is flooded, but we can pump it out as soon as Nimmo has finished checking for other damage. The pumps should be able to control it. But the cable locker is another matter. That’ll have to be dealt with at base.” He looked hard at Trewin. “Porcupine is a lucky ship, Trewin. But we can’t rely on damn miracles every day.”

  Trewin looked across at the waiting headland, grey tipped in the reluctant dawn. “Do we go in, sir?”

  “Immediately.” Corbett turned slightly as Mallory called, “Chief reports no damage aft. He is ready to proceed.”

  Corbett grunted. “Good. Tell him to start the pumps and try and lift the bows by draining off his forrard fuel tanks. We shall still have enough for our present task.”

  He waited until Mallory had passed his message and then snapped, “Slow ahead together.”

  As the Porcupine pushed slowly and painfully between the treacherous sandbars towards the Inlet the sky suddenly blossomed into a fiery red glow. Then, while the men on the bridge shaded their eyes, the explosion split the air apart, cowing them, beating them down with the power of its detonation. It went on and on, echoing around the hills and dulling every other shot and sound, as if they too were crushed into submission by its passing.

  Trewin shouted, “The fuel dump and magazine! The Army must have blown them up!” He watched the rising bank of black smoke and saw the underbellies of the low clouds flickering with red and orange reflections.

  Corbett said, “They must be falling back.” He sounded distant. “We will have to get a move on. You and Mallory will take twenty men as soon as we reach the settlement and get ashore as quickly as you can. I want the whole settlement cleared in thirty minutes. Nurses, engineers, everybody, do you understand?”

  Their eyes met. “And if anyone refuses, sir?”

  Corbett turned away. “Bring them anyway. By force if necessary.”

  The trees above the headland were tinged with reddish gold, and Trewin imagined that somehow the explosion had even reached this far. But he heard Masters mutter, “’Ere comes the sun. I was beginnin’ to wonder if I’d see another one!”

  “It’ll be the last one for you if you don’t keep your mind on your work!” Corbett glared at him. “Now get aft and hoist another ensign, the biggest you’ve got!”

  The yeoman stared. “Sir?”

  Corbett looked at Trewin. “When we steam upriver it may be the last visit for a very long time. I want this ship to look as if she means business, see?”

  The shadow of the headland crept out to greet them, and Corbett said suddenly, “I’m going round the ship myself to check the damage, Trewin. Take her upriver and keep away from the south bank.” His eyes glinted as a second ensign broke out from aft. “That’s more like it, eh? Give ’em something to remember at Talang.”

  Mallory watched him go and asked, “Do you think we’ll ever come back here?”

  Trewin watched the Inlet opening up across the sagging bows. He had not heard Mallory’s question. He was still thinking of the slime-covered keel and the mocking red light from the entangled corpse.

  He said quietly, “Three down and three to go!”

  AS THE WATERY SUNLIGHT finally broke through the drifting smoke and thinning patches of cloud the Porcupine rounded the last bend into the widest part of the river below the settlement. At first glance it was hard to recognise it as the same place. Only half the pier remained intact, the outward end having been r
educed to a tangle of broken beams which jutted from the fast-moving stream like decayed teeth. The air was thick with smoke and noise and a drifting curtain of ashes and black smuts from the burning dumps further inland. At regular intervals the ground shook to the onslaught of bursting shells, most of which were hitting the ridge of hills beyond the settlement. But some cleared the high ground completely, and as the gunboat nudged cautiously into the remains of the pier the shells screamed overhead to plough deep amongst the jungle on the south bank before exploding and adding to the fires which were already there.

  Quickly and nervously the landing party clambered across the pier and waited for Trewin and Mallory to join them. As the shells whimpered through the smoke and the air vibrated to their explosions the men crowded together as if for mutual support, their eyes on the shattered houses and the great craters along the dirt road.

  Trewin said harshly, “You know what to do! Two parties up the road on the double and get every available person here right away!” He pushed his holster across one hip and added to Mallory, “They’ve had a few air raids too by the look of it.”

  Mallory pointed at the remains of the stilted clubhouse. It was little more than a ruin, but miraculously the zinc bar still hung in position, a broken bottle at one end. “Never did like the bloody place!” He grinned, but his eyes were dark with strain.

  Trewin watched Petty Officer Kane trotting up the road with his men at his back. The sailors looked clean and alien against the chaos and charred houses, and he saw several of them glancing back at the ship as if to reassure themselves of safety.

  As he followed them towards the road Trewin also looked back. The Porcupine was swinging gently at her mooring lines, and he could see the livid gash on her waterline by the stem, a smear like blood where Grayling’s red lead had broken the final embrace.

  Then as the two officers quickened their pace they saw the soldiers. They were coming down the road towards the river. They came in groups or singly, running, or just dragging themselves along at the last stages of exhaustion. Hardly any of them were carrying arms, and some of them had thrown away everything but their boots and shorts in their eagerness to get away.