Trewin lifted himself to his feet and peered at his watch. He had intended to tell Phelps to use his semaphore flags to call up the gunboat, but the haze made that temporarily impossible. Above and around him he could hear the growing twitter of birds and the drowsy murmur of countless insects. Otherwise it was, very still, and he felt his eyes drawn back to the hut as its shape re-formed in the hardening light. The radio had mercifully fallen silent, and he tried not to think of the two mutilated corpses behind the closed door.
He looked across the small clearing where Hammond sat unmoving on an upended crate, his revolver cradled on his lap. He was hollow-eyed and pale, and the least sound from the dense scrub made him jerk as if he had been touched. Phelps was further down the slope facing the sea, his bright ginger hair making a patch of colour above the swirling water at the foot of the hill. On either side of the hut the Chinese seamen lay with their rifles pointing towards the trees, their faces grim but intent, their dark eyes showing nothing of their thoughts.
Phelps called quietly, `The Porcupine’s shiftin’, sir!’ As Trewin tugged his glasses from their case he added glumly, `She’s settled again!’
Trewin peered at the distant ship and tried to see some
change in the angle of the masts. It would be soon now. He could see a steady wisp of smoke from the funnel, the masthead pendant whipping occasionally in some freak breeze. He thought of Corbett pacing his bridge and watching the river entrance. He would be expecting some sign of Trewin’s mission. Maybe even some boats from the settlement to lift off part of his cargo.
Phelps suddenly jumped to his feet, his hands around his ears. `Sir! There’s a ship comin’!’ He turned slightly to the right, his body craned forward as if willing the sounds to reach him.
Then Trewin heard it too. A steady swish, swish, swish, echoed and distorted by the tall sides of the Inlet.
Hammond clambered over the bushes and stood at his side. He listened for several seconds and then said in a strained voice, `I know that noise. It’s the old Nonouti.’ He shaded his eyes and added, `She’s a clapped-out paddle steamer which does the coasting run from Talang to Singapore about once a week.’ He screwed up his eyes as if to clear his thoughts. `She shouldn’t be here now!’
At that moment the ship in question appeared around the sharp bend below the headland. She was a very old ship indeed. On either beam she was powered by a huge paddle wheel and her low hull was bare of superstructure but for a tiny, boxlike bridge and a long, spindley funnel from which poured an unbroken trail of black smoke.
Trewin watched her churning past, shocked by the packed humanity which filled the deck from rail to rail. There must have been hundreds of them. Men, women and children jammed together shoulder to shoulder in a tight, unmoving mass. He could see crates of chickens, even livestock lashed around the bridge, and the ship was so obviously overloaded that it was only her wide beam which prevented her from capsizing in the offshore current.
Hammond said dully, `She’s the deepest draught vessel which can get into the Inlet.’ He lifted his revolver and pointed towards the horizon. `She has to use the main channel. It runs almost north-east for about two miles before she can make her turn.’ He shuddered. `It’s also the worst channel. She’ll have to pick her way like a blind man with all that weight aboard!’
As he spoke the Nonouti swung around a darker path of water on to her next course, and Trewin saw the packed masses of figures sway sideways in unison, like an uncontrolled crowd on a cup final terrace.
Through the haze across the Inlet Trewin saw the intermittent blink of light and guessed that Corbett was trying to warn the other ship of the possible danger. Either her captain did not see the signal, or he had got beyond the stage of reason and order, but the paddle steamer maintained her zigzagging course with no reduction of speed.
He recalled the crowd of refugees at the settlement. The air of hopelessness and despair. They must have looked upon the Nonouti as a last chance to escape from the war. He could see the ship’s port side swaying to within inches of the frothing water, and imagined even more wretched refugees crammed below her decks in total darkness.
Trewin heard Hammond gasp, and as he swung his glasses he saw a tall water spout rise like a spectre, far out, but in line with the Nonouti’s present course. Almost simultaneously he heard a sharp, abbreviated whistle, but nothing -more. The gun, whatever it was, was firing at very high trajectory. The shell had fallen almost straight down, like a bomb.
He watched coldly as a second shell fell within a minute of the first. It must have struck a sandbank just below the surface, for it exploded in a bright flash, throwing up a great wall of water and mud which seemed to take an age to fall back to the sea. When it did, the explosion left a wide yellow stain and a growing circle of dead fish.
Hammond said hoarsely, `That was closer, and still in line!’
Trewin turned towards him, their eyes locking with sudden understanding. He said quietly, `That means they must have a spotter! No battery could track a ship otherwise !’
Together they looked up past the hut towards the deep green of the hillcrest.
Behind them another shell exploded with a dull roar, and they heard the distant scrape of steel splinters against the Nonouti’s hull.
Hammond swallowed hard and said bitterly, `At least our ship will stand a better chance now. She can slip into the Inlet while those poor devils are being massacred!’
Trewin did not reply. He was thinking of the two murdered soldiers. Not as people any more, but as parts of a puzzle. The Inlet had been under fire for some time, yet the enemy had not bothered to interfere with this solitary signal post before. He glanced at Hammond meaningly. `These shells, Sub? What do you make of them?’
Hammond lifted his glasses and watched as another tall water-spout rose about fifty yards from the Nonouti’s starboard quarter. `Not all that big.’ He looked at Trewin. ‘Fiveinch maybe. The Japs do have a five-point-nine field piece, ,I believe.’
Trewin nodded. `Exactly. Well, it isn’t firing ten bloody miles, is it?’ He waved his arm towards the hill. `They must have infiltrated a battery behind the lines for some special purpose. And near enough for their spotters to keep contact.’ He winced as another shell exploded in shallow water, and he tried not to think of those packed refugees.
Then without a word he walked into the darkened hut, and pausing only long enough to throw a ground sheet over the body by the door he began to pull the litter of wreckage from the radio set. He shut his ears to the distant shell-bursts and the sounds of buzzing flies from the other corpse. It was all beginning to fit. Some of the batteries were missing. The Japs must have come in the night to take some replacements from this hut.
As he walked out into the clearing he heard Phelps call, `The Porcupine’s floating off, sir!’ His, voice was trembling with relief. To him the ship meant order and safety, and her survival represented something more precious even than the lives of the refugees.
Hammond said slowly, `The Nonouti’s getting to the narrowest bit of the channel. It’s like a funnel there.. If the Japs can hit her there she’ll block it completely. Then only the gunboats’ll be able to get upstream!’
But Trewin ignored him. He was staring at the Porcupine’s masts above the surface haze. He had seen them go astern. The ship was off the sandbar at last. Then, just as he had been about to take the others back to the dinghy and return to the gunboat, he had noticed with something like shock that the masts were slowly turning into line. As he blinked to clear his vision he saw the Porcupine’s blunt bows nose from the mist, her fore-r castle shining faintly in the first hint of sunlight.
Hammond said in a strangled tone, `She’s going about! Corbett’s heading for the Nonouti !’
As one they turned their glasses back to the paddle steamer. The paddles were still churning bravely, and there was a drifting cloud of cordite smoke almost alongside. But there was no bow-wave under her battered stem, and the water around her was ye
llow with silt and mud.
`She’s gone aground!’ Hammond spoke between his teeth. `She’s stuck!’
Trewin turned back to the gunboat. He could see tiny white figures on her quarterdeck, the gleam of sunlight shining briefly on the big towing swivel.
No more shells fell, and Trewin could imagine the sudden consternation caused by the Porcupine’s appearance. The invisible spotters would just have to wait until the gunboat was harnessed to the other ship and then … Half to himself he muttered, `You poor, brave bloody fool!’ Then in a calmer voice he said, `Take Phelps down to the foreshore, Sub. Tell him to call up the ship on the double!’
He saw the uncertainty in Hammond’s eyes and added sharply, `There is a Very pistol in the hut. If I can mark the spotters’ position with a few flares, maybe Tweedie’s howitzer can hit the bloody thing!’
He turned to go but Hammond clutched at his arm. `You’ll get killed! It’s impossible!’
`We don’t know till we try, do we?’ Somehow he forced a
grin. `You get that signal off, Sub! The ship’ll find her way through the channel before you can say whistle!’ He turned and ran into the hut, hating the smell of the place, hating himself for pretending to Hammond that there was room for hope.
He wedged the fat cartridge into his shirt and rammed one into the pistol. As he left the hut he felt a fresh pang of alarm. The others had already gone and he was momentarily tempted to follow them. Then with a quick glance at the ship he started to push his way through the clinging brush towards the top of the hill.
The sun was hardly clear of the sea yet already his chest and legs were streaming with sweat and his breath was hot across his parched lips. At the foot of a rotting tree he found a shaded tunnel of black mud left from some recent downpour. Gratefully he sank on his knees and dipped his handkerchief in it. The sodden rag felt cool across his face, and as an afterthought he tore off his shirt and kneaded it in the mud before dragging it back across his shoulders. It stank, but Trewin knew it would be harder, to see than a white shirt. As he replaced the heavy cartridges against his skin he thought suddenly of the girl, Clare Massey. What was she doing at this moment? Would she ever hear what he had done, and if so, would she care?
He lurched to his feet and hurried on up the slope, ignoring the stinging thorns and the cruel whips of low branches across his shoulder. Not far now, he thought dazedly. They had to be near. To be in a safe place from which they could see seaward and back inland at the same time.
He tried not to think about the dead soldiers and how they had died. He looked at the revolver in his hand. They would not take him alive, he was quite sure of that.
A lance of weak sunlight glittered momentarily through the trees, and instinct made him drop to his stomach in one quick movement. Then, holding his breath, he began to drag himself forward through an unbroken carpet of gorse. It tore his hands and knees, but each second took him closer to the place where he had seen the light. The light made by the sun shining on glass.
Flies buzzed around his streaming face and other insects explored his thighs and chest, but he dared not move. Suddenly, muffled by the trees, he heard the dull bang of a shellburst. They had started again. Within minutes they would have the exact range and the Porcupine would be detonated like a giant bomb.
He thought of Corbett’s sudden impulse and wanted to bury his face on his arms as he had that day in Talang Hospital. Shut it all out. Forget Corbett and his hopeless determination to prove himself and his ship.
He was shaking badly, and he knew that he was only waiting to hear one final explosion.
Then he looked up. They were so close that for an insane instant he imagined that they had seen him and were already closing in on his hiding place. As the mist cleared from his eyes he saw the whole position like a small picture. There was a camouflaged hide made of reed thatch in which they had laced loose branches to disguise it from any aerial survey. In front of it was a long telescope mounted on a brass tripod, and almost hidden beyond the thatch roof was a signal lamp pointing towards the next ridge of hills. And grouped around the telescope, intent and motionless, were the Japanese spotters.
They were dressed in filthy, camouflaged uniforms and tight-fitting jungle caps. One, who appeared to be in charge, wore glasses and was calmly smoking a cigarette. Across his knees was a long, curved sword, and Trewin had a sudden stark picture of this calm, composed officer slashing at the pinioned soldier in the hut.
The man at the telescope moved his sighting bar and spoke quickly from the corner of his mouth. Another soldier’s head and shoulders appeared behind the hide, and Trewin saw him crouch behind the signal lamp. It was a very small light, but no doubt it was being watched by a powerful telescope from the distant hills. Trewin heard the brief whistle of a shell passing overhead and the distant roar of an explosion.
The officer stood up and snapped something to the man at the telescope. The latter nodded violently and pressed his eye to the sight once more.
Trewin gently eased back the hammer of the pistol. It took two attempts as the metal was slippery with his sweat. It was useless to attempt to shoot any of the soldiers. There were probably more of them down the far side of the hill guarding the inland approaches until the spotters had done their work.
His eye fixed on the thatch roof, and with sudden calm he lifted the muzzle and aimed directly for it. The sharp thud of the pistol was lost instantly in a great roar of flames and diamond-bright sparks as the whole roof erupted with the exploding flare. The soldier by the telescope made as if to run away, but the officer screamed at him, his pointed features distorted with fury. Then as the flames and black smoke began to spread across the surrounding bushes he drew his sword and yelled an order to some more men who had come running through the trees behind him.
Resting his revolver on a fallen branch Trewin squeezed the trigger, and saw one of the men spin round like a top before pitching back down the slope. He fired again and again, but as he peered through the smoke he saw that the soldiers had vanished. But for the telescope and the blazing hut it was as if he had imagined them.
Then somewhere to his right a rifle cracked out and he felt some clipped leaves falling across his neck as the bullet whined overhead. Someone was calling orders, and he heard the crash of running feet around the back of the blazing pyre.
With his heart pounding against his ribs he started to wriggle back down the hill. A shadow moved against the smoke and he fired again, feeling the revolver buck in his fist like a wild thing. He could not remember how many he had fired, and with something like panic he rolled over and started to run down the slope, expecting to feel a bullet slam into his back at each step.
He saw the trees ahead of him shiver as if in a strong squall, and some last ounce of warning made him throw himself flat as the first shell arrived from the Porcupine’s howitzer. Like the gun, the shells were old and outdated, but the effect of the first one was staggering.
Timed to explode on impact, Trewin had heard Tweedie describe them lovingly as daisy-cutters, they sprayed out a lethal hail of shrapnel and splinters in every direction, and at ground level.
He dug his fingers into the ground as the air came alive with shrieking sounds and the crackle and splinter of torn trees. The pyre from the burning flare would make a perfect target, but it was no time to wait and watch. He had expected to die, but now that this incredible reprieve had been allowed him he could feel nothing but fear.
He ran forward, stopping yet again as another shell screamed down on the hillside and rent the air with splinters and sharpnel. Before he ran on Trewin peered back at the smoke and flames from the blazing hill-top. Surely nothing could live there now? That stone-faced officer would have died with the others. Trewin found himself praying that he had died slowly. Slow enough to realise what had done this to him.
Trewin ran faster, his vision swimming with effort as trees and bushes leapt to impede his path and tried to trip his desperate feet. Then he was in the sm
all clearing with the sea opening up below him like blue silk. He could see the Porcupine turning towards the Inlet again, her wake creaming out
astern in a wide crescent. And the old paddle steamer under way once more through the narrow channel and heading to the south, with her plume of black funnel-smoke streaming in a jubilant banner to mark her escape.
The sea was pockmarked with wide patches of discoloured water and the distant battery was still firing._ But it was blind and without the guidance necessary for a kill.
Trewin turned dazedly and then stopped dead in his tracks. Facing him on the opposite side of the clearing was the Japanese officer. His uniform was torn and scorched, and there was a cut above his eyes, but his face was quite composed, and in his hands the naked sword was steady and unwavering as he stepped slowly on to the cleared ground with the sea at his back.
Trewin lifted the revolver and then saw the Japanese officer’s face change its expression from concentration to something like pleasure as the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
The sword moved slightly above the man’s right shoulder as he moved easily across the clearing. He was holding it with both hands, and Trewin could see the early sunlight shining like blood on the razor edge of the blade. Trewin stood quite still. It was over. He could not turn his back, nor could he get to grips with the slowly advancing soldier.
There was a sudden sharp crack from beyond the bushes, and Trewin dodged sideways as the Japanese was hurled forward by the force of the heavy bullet which had struck him squarely in the spine. As if in a dream he saw the man writhe from side to side, his teeth bared like a savaged animal, his hands still clutching at the sword as his blood soaked into the dry ground around him. Then he rolled on to his back, kicked once, and lay still.
When Trewin lifted his head he saw Hammond framed against the sea, his revolver hanging on his hand shrouded in pale smoke.
Hammond did not lift his eyes from the dead soldier. `Had to come back! Couldn’t leave you to die without trying to help …’
The Pride and the Anguish Page 13
