Pride and the Anguish

by Douglas Reeman

  He barely noticed the transfer from car to launch, and when he climbed aboard the gunboat he had to force his mind to grapple with the protests and problems which waited for his attention.

  Chief Petty Officer Nimmo, stubbornly anxious to point out the dangers of too little fuel. Mallory, bleary-eyed in the wardroom with a pot of black coffee. And Tweedie making it all too obvious that whereas he was prepared to serve under Trewin at anchor it was another matter entirely to have him in command at sea.

  Trewin pushed his way to the upper bridge, suddenly anxious to get away, if only to speed the possibility of return. “Stand by to slip from the buoy in five minutes!” He knew his voice was hard, but he no longer cared. “Hands will go to action stations as soon as we leave the harbour limits.”

  Only when his eye fell on Corbett’s empty chair did he realise exactly what lay ahead. He had often disagreed with Corbett’s decisions, but decisions they had been. Now his was the strength or weakness which could commit the ship and her company to the fates of Shrike or Grayling, and all the others.

  Hammond said quietly, “Engine room standing by, sir.”

  Trewin rested his hands on the screen, feeling the waiting power pulsating gently through his palms. His hands felt clammy and he was sweating badly.

  “Very well. Slow ahead together.” He heard the telegraphs clang beneath him. “Slip!”

  The single wire snaked back through the fairleads and he felt the ship edging forward, nudging the buoy aside with calm indifference.

  “Starboard fifteen. Half ahead together!”

  He watched the mounting froth creaming back from the bows. The Porcupine too seemed glad to be leaving the land behind.

  11 | Just a Matter of Time

  MALLORY STRAIGHTENED HIS BACK above the chart table and said sharply, “Alter course now. Steer two five eight!”

  Trewin nodded but remained motionless behind the screen as Mallory relayed the order to the wheelhouse. His whole body felt tensed as if to receive a blow, and he was conscious of the steady engine beats as the Porcupine steamed through the next leg of the narrow Sinki Strait. It was nerve-racking and frightening, and he had the feeling that the ship would strike full tilt into a jutting headland or charge across a lurking sandbar. The ship was steering into complete blackness, broken only by the outflung arrowhead of her white bow-wave. What he had first thought to be a bank of unbroken cloud was in fact a drifting pall of smoke, and only occasionally could he see the stars beyond, aloof and indifferent to the world of men.

  Mallory said, “I think we should reduce speed.” He waited for Trewin to reply and added harshly, “You’ll rip her guts out if you strike now!”

  Trewin ignored him and concentrated his full attention on a darker patch beyond the starboard bow. He knew Mallory had been against his choice of route, and now that the ship was committed to this treacherous, unlighted channel he had to force himself to ignore the warning which moved through his mind with each swing of the screws. By taking this channel between the offshore islands around the southwest coast he could save an hour. Or lose the ship, the warning voice persisted.

  He saw the wash break into dancing spectres against the foot of a tall-sided cliff less than fifty yards abeam, and held his breath until the jutting spur of land had dropped astern into the darkness.

  The gun below the bridge squeaked on its mounting as it was trained towards the next piece of channel, and he could imagine the men at the controls straining their eyes into the drifting smoke and waiting for the first tell-tale sign of an enemy.

  The gunfire was still constant, but more muffled by the cliffs and hills, and every so often the upper bridge was lit by brief, savage explosions from inland, which made the tense look-outs and gunners stand out like crude waxworks before they vanished once more into one solid outline.

  A feeble green light moved to greet them, and as the Porcupine dashed past without faltering Trewin saw that it was a warning lantern hanging dismally from a listing freighter which had run aground five days earlier after being bombed and set ablaze.

  Mallory said, “That bloody wreck gives me a good fix. We seem to be more or less where I estimated.” He sounded doubtful.

  “Well, you’re the navigator!” Trewin found himself grinning, but his face felt like a mask. “Just another few miles and we’ll be clear.”

  A telephone buzzed and Petty Officer Dancy said, “Masthead reports a fire ahead, sir. A ship by the look of it.”

  Trewin licked his lips. They were parched and dry. The lookout could probably see over the next clump of islets to where the channel widened out to meet and mingle with the entrance to the Johore Strait.

  Mallory said, “Alter course again. Steer three two zero!”

  Trewin watched the thin line of breakers moving past the hull and then said, “All guns prepare to open fire. And tell the chief to stand by for emergency full speed!” He wiped the mist from his glasses and trained them over the screen as the dark edge of the nearest islet hardened in a new flickering glare, low down, somewhere close inshore.

  As the Porcupine nosed out into open water a star-shell burst with blinding brilliance less than a mile ahead. For a moment it was impossible to see anything but the searing glare pinioned between the unruffled water and the drifting smoke above.

  Then a look-out yelled, “There’s the Beaver, sir! Fine on the port bow!”

  Trewin shifted his glasses and watched as the distant gunboat was suddenly bracketed by two tall waterspouts. There were so many flashes from both the mainland and the island that it was not possible to gauge the bearing and distance of the hidden battery. He saw the Beaver swinging in a fierce turn, her bow-wave silver in the drifting flare, her guns firing back over her port quarter, their muzzles high-angled for maximum range. Following in her wake were the two remaining armed trawlers, their guns joining in the barrage as they zigzagged between another set of waterspouts, their hulls shining like glass from the spray thrown up by the Japanese shells.

  Then as the last piece of islet moved away to starboard Trewin saw the Prawn. She was nudging into a smooth-backed sandbar, if not actually aground, and smoke was billowing out of her aft superstructure, where tiny figures flitted across the eager flames, their efforts to control the blaze made puny by distance.

  Mallory said between his teeth, “Prawn’s had a direct hit by the look of it. Her after gun has gone, and so has her mainmast.”

  They ducked as a shell shrieked overhead and exploded with a vivid flash on a small islet far abeam.

  Trewin shouted, “Full ahead together!” Then to Mallory, “Get a fix on that gun if it fires again!” Another shell whipped above the bridge and he added, “There! Did you get it?”

  Mallory yelled, “About green four five! The Japs must be firing from Singapore Island itself!”

  Trewin watched the flare drifting slowly towards the sea and said, “That would make them about five miles inland already!”

  Masters touched his arm. “Beaver’s signalling, sir!” His face looked blue in the eerie light. “Signal reads, ‘The group will retire forthwith and return to base.’”

  The Beaver was still swinging in a wide arc, her masts and upperworks dipping to the power of her screws. Trewin saw her signal lamp stabbing urgently from the bridge and imagined Corbett watching the Porcupine and waiting for her to respond.

  The Beaver’s outline shone briefly in a bright scarlet glare, and beyond her one of the trawlers reeled out of line and began to capsize in a welter of flames and escaping steam.

  “Direct hit, sir!” Masters turned back to Trewin. “Shall I acknowledge?”

  Dancy was still staring at the Prawn. He said suddenly, “They’re jettisoning coal by the looks of it. By God, they’ve got that fire nearly out!” He waved his cap in the air. “That’s right, lads! We’ll show the buggers!”

  Trewin watched the Beaver as she surged towards him, the last trawler close on her tail like a shadow. There was no sign of the armed yacht, so she
was probably sunk also. Two trawlers, an M.L. and a small pitiful yacht, all sunk within hours. With sudden desperation he stared towards the Prawn. Now that the flare had almost died he could see that the fires were nearly out, while from alongside her listing hull he could see the white splashes of coal cascading into the shallow water as Adair, her captain, fought to save his ancient command.

  Trewin made up his mind. “Signal Prawn. Ask what assistance she requires.” He waited until Phelps had started to use his lamp and added, “We’ll not leave her now!”

  “From Prawn, sir. ‘One direct hit from heavy shell. Engine room flooded but ship still afloat. Would appreciate your shoulder to cry on!’”

  Trewin smiled tightly. “Acknowledge. We will go alongside and take her in tow.”

  Phelps came back in less than a minute. “She says, ‘God bless you!’ sir.”

  “Tell her that porcupines are very partial to prawns, Bunts!”

  Trewin felt Mallory gripping his sleeve. “What is it, Pilot?”

  “You’re not going to do it, surely?” His face was inches from Trewin’s. “The enemy has the range! They’ll be on to us as soon as another flare goes up!” When Trewin did not answer he shouted, “Corbett left that trawler, so why do we have to go after Prawn? Are you trying to prove something?”

  Masters called, “Signal from Beaver. ‘Obey my last order instantly!’”

  Trewin felt a strange anger moving through him. Corbett was watching him, just as if he were here on this bridge. He was afraid of losing his precious Porcupine, just as he mistrusted his first lieutenant’s competence to deal with the task of saving Prawn.

  Savagely he said, “Well, if he won’t do it, I will!” He pushed Mallory away, adding, “Now get aft and turn to all available hands to rig towing gear, and be sharp about it!”

  He watched Mallory groping for the ladder and looked towards the Beaver. She was sweeping past about half a cable clear. He could see the pale blobs of faces on her bridge, the distant gunfire reflected in the raised binoculars along her screen. He turned away. “Starboard fifteen. Slow ahead together.” Porcupine’s stern would be a better reply to Corbett than any signal, he thought bleakly.

  He winced as another flare exploded almost directly overhead. He heard some of the men whispering with alarm and said, “Now we can see what we’re about!” He made himself watch the narrowing strip of water between the two gunboats, but half of his mind still rebelled and waited for the first, obliterating salvo.

  “Midships. Port ten.” In the harsh light he could see every detail of the Prawn’s shattered deck, even the glittering mounds of discarded coal on the sandbar below her hull. The coal had definitely saved her. The shell’s lethal power had dissipated itself inside one of the bunkers instead of breaking the old gunboat’s back or ploughing into one of the magazines.

  “Stop engines!” He saw someone waving his cap at him from the Prawn’s bridge, but turned as Dancy called, “All ready aft, sir!”

  It was all taking too long, although he knew from the position of the drifting flare that it had only been a matter of minutes and seconds.

  There was an explosion like a thunderclap from the opposite side, and as he turned he saw a giant column of water shoot skywards while the deck heaved beneath his feet as if on a tidal wave. A shell had exploded in the shallow water merely yards away. As the white column fell in a blinding torrent across the bridge the men staggered back coughing and gasping, their eyes and mouths filled with salt and the stench of cordite.

  Dancy was calling, “Wheelhouse reports that the wheel don’t answer, sir!”

  Trewin stared at him for several seconds, waiting for his voice and wits to return. He spat the filthy water from his mouth. “Get aft and find out the damage.” In a calmer tone he continued, “All departments report damage immediately.”

  When he looked again he saw that the Prawn was almost touching and already they were joined by dripping heaving lines. On one was attached a strong hawser, and as he watched he saw the thick towing line moving slowly across the narrow strip of trapped water between the two ships.

  Aloud he muttered, “We’ll use Prawn like a drogue and rely on the engines for steering.”

  A messenger thrust a telephone into his hand. “Engine room, sir.”

  Trewin hid the sudden anxiety from the watching men and said, “Yes, Chief, what is it?”

  “Just been having a look at the steering gear, sir. Two of the rudders are buckled right over. You’ll not be able to use ’em until the dockyard has fixed ’em.”

  Trewin waited, hardly daring to hope. Then he asked, “No other hull damage?”

  He heard Nimmo laugh. He sounded a long way away. “Not a bloody thing. She’s a tough old bird, this one.”

  As Trewin replaced the handset Nimmo was still laughing.

  “Tow secured, sir!”

  “Very well.” He glanced shorewards but there was no tell-tale flash from the searching battery. Maybe it had been engaged by the island’s defenders, he thought vaguely. “Slow ahead port!”

  Like a crab the gunboat veered away from the other ship and then took the strain on the unreeling tow rope. Twice it jerked bar taut from below the surface, and Trewin caught his breath, waiting for it to part. Then Prawn without power and Porcupine with no rudder would be drifting targets awaiting the dawn and any enemy gunner who chose to take advantage of them.

  Mallory scrambled on to the bridge soaked in water and filthy. He gasped, “She’s taking the strain!” Then he shook his head. “You mad bastard! You’re as bad as bloody Corbett!” But he was grinning.

  “Just to please you I’ll take the main Strait this time.” Trewin could feel his hands shaking violently. “We shall have to go very slowly.” Over his shoulder he snapped, “Slow ahead starboard!”

  Mercifully the flare dipped and died with startling suddenness, and above the mutter of duelling artillery and the thud of engines he heard Prawn’s men cheering.

  He said, “We’ll try and keep going due south for an hour or so. Then I’ll signal for a tug.” Now that the actual moment of decision was past he found he could not stop speaking his mind aloud.

  Mallory replied quietly, “Corbett will not be pleased, whatever you do or say now.”

  Trewin thought of what he must say to Corbett when he reached harbour, and wondered what Mallory would think if he told him.

  He said steadily, “Just watch the tow, Pilot. Leave the diplomacy to me, all right?”

  Mallory shrugged and then walked to the rear of the bridge. Under his breath he commented, “Rather you than me, my friend!”

  By the screen Trewin stood alone with his thoughts. It would be a very slow crawl back to harbour. Corbett would have plenty of time to work up a rage and prepare to act against him for disobeying his orders. Deep down Trewin wondered if he had deliberately given Corbett a weapon to use against him, if only to ease the pain of what he had still to do.

  He heard the telegraphs ring violently as Mallory wrestled with the engines and tried to keep the tow in line astern, and smiled in spite of his uncertainty.

  With or without Corbett, the Porcupine seemed to have a life and mind all of her own, he thought.

  NO TUG WAS SENT in response to Trewin’s signal, merely a brief but definite order to maintain radio silence and return to harbour using whatever resources available. It was a slow and painful journey, with much of the time spent hiding amongst the offshore islets while processions of bombers and solitary reconnaissance aircraft droned overhead, obviously intent on searching for such targets as the crippled gunboats now presented.

  They finally crossed the harbour limits on the morning of the following day, the success of their arrival immediately overshadowed by the unmoving pall of smoke above the city and the fresh wrecks which littered the harbour like so much scrap.

  It was difficult to believe that the harbour and anchorage could have changed so much in less than thirty-six hours. Transports and supply ships were gone, and
the largest warship in sight was a destroyer busily engaged in taking on fuel from a lighter, even as her seamen prepared the lines for getting under way without a second’s delay.

  A harbour launch assisted the Porcupine to tie up to a buoy, and then towed the listing Prawn towards the slipway where a crowd of reluctant dockyard workers awaited her arrival under the eyes of an armed platoon of soldiers. Trewin imagined that but for the latter the workers would have left the Prawn to fend for herself. Of the Beaver there was no sign, but as Trewin leafed hastily through a bunch of despatches hurled aboard by the guardboat he read that she had been ordered to embark some two hundred civilian refugees and wounded troops and sail with a convoy bound for Java. From the look of the deserted harbour it seemed as if it was to be the last convoy to go. The island was digging in to make a final fight of it. Even the wardroom radio sounded determined, and the voice of the newsreader trembled with emotion and resolution as he ended with the words: “We will not surrender! Singapore lives, and will never give in to the invaders!”

  Trewin switched off the set and looked at the Porcupine’s officers. They were lolling around the table, too tired even to eat the hastily prepared breakfast. He said, “I shall go ashore and report to headquarters. The captain will most likely be there and will have our orders.” He glanced at Mallory’s unshaven face. “Make a signal requesting fuel. We should be able to get that lighter alongside as soon as the destroyer puts to sea. It may be our last chance, and the chief tells me we are down to the rivets in all the tanks!”

  Nobody answered. Each man seemed totally immersed in his own thoughts. He continued, “I think that all officers and P.O.s had better wear sidearms as of now. And any shore parties must also be armed.” He saw Tweedie glance at the pistol rack. “When I get back we might know a bit more, but from what I’ve seen already, I’m not too hopeful.”