by Ian Blake
‘Know where you’ll find sympathy, Tiger?’ Sandy chuckled. ‘I’ll tell you, mate. It’s in the dictionary between "shit" and "syphilis". Where are we heading?’
‘Back to where we came from,’ said Tiller. ‘I hope.’
The second tavoy was looming up ahead of them when a stream of tracer erupted from it. It was something heavy – a 20mm cannon of some sort. Even the Japanese couldn’t miss at that range.
‘Shit,’ said Tiller, instinctively ducking.
‘Someone’s on the ball,’ Sandy said calmly. ‘Not before time, I’d say.’
A second burst went through the mergui’s sail, but Tiller, instead of altering course away from the tavoy, put the mergui’s helm down and sailed straight for it.
‘Christ!’ Sandy yelled out. ‘What are you doing, Tiger?’
Tiller pulled out the City Slicker. ‘Shut up, and chuck this in the oil slick as we pass. Make sure you open the flap first.’
As one Pin-Up Girl wasn’t going to sink the tavoy, he’d bloody well burn it instead. In for a penny, in for a pound. The government in exile would have to take a running jump at its collective self.
The mergui’s change of course surprised the Japanese aboard the schooner as much as it had Sandy, and it took the gunner time to adjust his aim. A third burst flew over the mergui but then the gunner got the range and the mergui shook as the shells began thumping into its hull. Then they were too near for the gunner to depress his gun. The schooner loomed up and then disappeared behind them.
‘Bombs away!’ Sandy yelled.
Tiller heard the crack of rifle bullets over him and he ducked into the cockpit. Then the whole sky seemed to light up and the firing stopped. Tiller looked round and saw the water around the tavoy was one large sheet of flame.
‘That was less than a minute,’ Tiller said. ‘I’ll tell that bloody Texan what I think of him and his fancy devices.’
As he spoke, he saw the shore looming up ahead. The mergui, filling rapidly with water, was hard to control. Tiller wrestled with the helm.
‘Hold on!’
Its torn sail flapping noisily, the mergui surged through the water. Then it grounded, staggered free and drove on before hitting some underwater obstruction which jarred it from bow to stern. The mast snapped and the sail fell with a splintering crash on to the deck, so that pieces of bamboo matting flew into the air and were blown away into the night. It sent both SBS men sprawling and Tiller’s carbine flew across the cockpit and into the deck house.
But still the mergui kept going until at last it was driven by the wind right through the rushes and on to the beach almost exactly at the place they had left in the canoe three hours before.
As they jumped on to the beach and ran up to the building where the others were waiting for them, the moon dipped below the horizon and the flickering flames of the burning schooner shot into the night sky.
Half an hour later the remaining native boats weighed anchor one by one and began slowly threading their way out of the harbour.
11
‘Hello, American boys. How are you enjoying yourselves today? Aren’t you missing your home comforts? And what about your girls? Who do you think is taking them out while you’re away?’
The female voice was smooth, seductive and strongly tinged with an American accent. It was not hard to imagine what she looked like at the microphone: smiling and friendly, everyone’s buddy. But sexy too, very sexy.
‘Do you know you’re dying in your thousands so that your British ally can regain her empire in Asia? Of course you do. Because we know you American boys have a good joke about it. You say that SEAC really stands for Save England’s Asiatic Colonies.’
The announcer paused.
Then she went on in a more serious tone: ‘That’s not much of a joke when you’re dying in the mud, as so many of you are. Yet even as you listen the British are back in Burma, a country which we the Japanese made free and independent last year. They are back practising their old colonial ways, making the local people slaves again. They have found a new way to do this in the Arakan, boys. They burn and wreck the fishermen’s boats to deprive them of a living. Not very nice, is it? Is that sort of behaviour worth dying for?’
The man in the white linen suit bent forward and snapped off the wireless. Danforth had introduced him to Tiller as Mr Hollis, a Colonial Office Civil Affairs Officer from the government in exile. But to Tiller he looked like someone who had stepped straight out of a Hollywood movie – Cary Grant, perhaps, or some other dapper film star. His suit was uncreased, the triangle of silk handkerchief which poked neatly out of his breast pocket matched the tie that was loosely knotted around the collar of his crisp white shirt.
‘Not good, gentlemen,’ he said now, settling back in his seat. ‘Not good at all.’
Danforth, whose wireless it was, raised his eyebrows. ‘Who was that cute little number?’
‘She’s just one of several females who broadcast propaganda from Japan. Tokyo Rose, our American friends call her. Different versions of that particular piece have been broadcast over the air for the last week. They must think it worth repeating.’
The atmosphere in Danforth’s office was unusually formal. Tiller had been introduced to the visitor, but had not been waved to a chair as he usually was. Standing at ease, he watched the rain falling out of the sky outside the office, its drumming on the tin roof making it necessary to speak loudly.
Danforth got up from behind his desk and paced back and forth. ‘You say Corporal Douglas laid all his charges but was then seen by a sentry aboard one of his targets?’
Tiller nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied in his most formal manner.
‘Who raised the alarm?’
‘Well, he shot at him, sir, but missed.’
‘In the meantime you were about to lay the last charge on your last target?’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘But immediately surprise was lost so you decided instead to overwhelm the Japanse aboard the boat?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Which led to the boat being driven ashore?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What made you decide not to lay the charge?’ Hollis asked.
Tiller considered whether to answer this. He accepted that the inquiry had to be carried out, that Danforth had no alternative but to have this officious little creep in his office, and that he, Tiller, had to be questioned by him. But Tiller had already put everything in his report. It seemed a waste of time to repeat it all again.
There was a long silence. Danforth, still striding up and down, looked at Tiller and nodded his encouragement.
‘It’s all in my report,’ said Tiller reluctantly.
‘I would like to hear it myself,’ said Hollis.
‘I couldn’t get the charge to fix itself to the hull,’ said Tiller.
Hollis looked at Danforth sharply. ‘I take it that all your men are fully trained, Major?’
The implication was not lost on Danforth or Tiller. Tiller bristled and Danforth said quickly: ‘It is a new device that the Americans have made. We agreed to test it out for them. It is still in the development stage.’
Hollis’s foxy expression could not disguise his disappointment at this news. He couldn’t blame Tiller for its failure then and he couldn’t blame the Americans because – well, because he couldn’t. He tried another tack.
‘You could have abandoned the operation at that point, could you not?’
Tiller stiffened. ‘My orders were to plant delay devices on all Japanese shipping in the harbour. This I did.’
Hollis tapped his fingernails on the table. Even he was beginning to find it hot, for he took out his silk handkerchief and dabbed it delicately on his forehead. ‘But your orders were also to ensure that there should be no evidence that local shipping was being destroyed by British forces. Is that correct?’
‘But . . . ’ Tiller began.
‘Is that correct, Sergeant?’
&nb
sp; The drill sergeant’s voice from all those years ago resonated in the recesses of Tiller’s mind: ‘You ’orrible little man, you. What are you? ’Orrible, that’s what you are.’
With a great effort he said, very quietly: ‘That’s correct.’
He was very glad for Hollis’s sake that Dopey and his partner had got back safely without a scratch on them, otherwise he would have been inclined to break the man’s neck then and there. He decided to add bureaucracy to Sandy’s list of disease, the monsoon and mother nature that the SBS were fighting. It was surprising the Japs got a look in at all.
Hollis now swung round to Danforth, who paused in his pacing. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate, Major, that the Burmese government takes this matter very seriously. Very seriously indeed. It could have grave implications for its long-term postwar policies in this area. I’m sure you’ll be carrying out your own disciplinary procedures but . . .’
Hollis had overstepped the mark and Danforth interrupted him with the sharpness of a razor. ‘I won’t be.’
Hollis looked surprised, not so much by what Danforth had said but by the undisguised hostility with which he said it. ‘I must say,’ he began, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
‘Come,’ said Danforth.
Coates put his head round the door. ‘I just . . .’ he said, but stopped when he saw Hollis in his crisp white suit. ‘Well, well, well. Look who we have here.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Danforth. ‘Thanks for coming, Dick. Come in and shut the door.’
But Coates had already done so. To Tiller it looked as if he had closed it as he would a trap in which he had caught a particularly prized wild animal.
‘This is Richard Coates, our district adviser.’
‘Oh, we know each other,’ Coates said softly. ‘Don’t we, Hollis?’
Hollis shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and nodded.
‘Long time no see, Hollis. How’s Simla?’
‘Cooler than here,’ said Hollis.
‘I bet it is,’ said Coates. ‘Cooler and a lot more comfortable. Safer, too. Where are you billeted? At the Grand or at the Simla Palace?’
Hollis ran a forefinger round the inside of his collar. ‘The Palace, actually.’
‘Very nice,’ said Coates softly. He took his pipe out of his pocket and tried to light it. Two matches broke and one fizzed on to the floor before he succeeded. But not for a moment did Coates take his eyes from the civil servant’s face.
‘Mr Hollis is here on behalf of the Burmese government,’ Danforth explained. He was either not aware of the tension between the two civilians or was pretending to ignore it.
‘You mean the British Burmese government,’ Coates interrupted him. ‘There is a difference now, you know, Jim – whether we like it or not.’
‘The Burmese government in exile is the only one recognized by the Allies,’ Hollis said stiffly. ‘Only the Axis powers have recognized the Burmese collaborationist government.’
Coates waved this airly aside with the stem of his pipe. ‘Of course, of course. Just my little joke.’
Tiller watched with amusement as the two men squared up to one another like fighting cocks.
‘He’s investigating the wrecking of that mergui in Kyaukpyu harbour last month,’ Danforth intervened quickly. ‘You were on that op, weren’t you?’
‘Indeed,’ said Coates. ‘Brilliantly conceived and carried out, if you want my humble opinion, even though we did not manage to draw off Japanese troops from the mainland as we had hoped. Do we know whether any of those boats got to the mainland?’
‘It looks unlikely,’ said Danforth. ‘Our sea patrols have seen plenty of wreckage in the area. But the collaborationist government cannot prove that we disposed of them.’
‘But I am sure they will be telling the natives who owned them that it was the British who did it,’ Hollis said sharply. ‘However, that is neither here nor there. I am investigating the wrecked mergui. As a carbine and grenade fragments were found on this vessel that is sufficient proof that it was British personnel who were responsible for its loss. The British Burmese government is being accused of deliberately inciting the British forces to adopt a policy which deprives native fishermen of their living.’
‘Nothing unusual in that, surely?’ said Coates, fiddling with his pipe, his eyes still on Hollis.
Hollis was caught off guard. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘The government. Depriving people of their living. You are quite adept at it yourself, aren’t you?’
Hollis flushed. ‘Now look here, Coates,’ he blustered. ‘I can’t see what . . .’
‘Shall we just settle the matter in hand,’ Danforth interrupted soothingly. ‘I asked Mr Coates here as he was an eyewitness,’ he said to Hollis. ‘He will be able to give you as independent an opinion as it is possible to have.’
He turned to Coates. ‘Would you say that the wreck of the mergui was unavoidable, Dick?’
‘Yes,’ said Coates without hesitation. ‘Once the Japanese were aware they were being attacked there was, in my opinion, no chance of Sergeant Tiller escaping unnoticed. He took, under the circumstances, the only possible action which was not positively suicidal.’
‘Suicidal?’ Hollis picked up the word immediately. ‘Surely, that’s quite irrelevant. What matters is to carry out orders. It seems to me that if Sergeant Tiller was unable to carry out his, then he should have abandoned the attack on the vessel and tried to withdraw from the scene. If necessary, he could have swum ashore. All your men are expert swimmers, are they not, Major?’
Danforth did not trust himself to say anything. He just nodded.
Coates was not so restrained. ‘Sergeant Tiller was wounded in the shoulder. Even you must know, Hollis, that blood and movement in the water attracts sharks. I would not have laid my odds on Sergeant Tiller and his partner reaching the shore. For them to have tried would have been suicidal. There is no other word for it.’
Danforth glanced across at Hollis, who was writing in a notebook. ‘Mr Hollis, are there any further questions you would like to ask?’
The Civil Affairs Officer hesitated. ‘I suppose none of you know why that schooner went up in flames? Nothing to do with you, I suppose?’
Tiller opened his mouth and shut it again. Coates tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and said scornfully: ‘How do you suppose a canoe could set alight a hundred-and-twenty-foot schooner, Hollis? You know how unreliable Indian matches are.’
As if to prove his point, Coates picked up the broken matches with which he had failed to light his pipe and placed them delicately on the table in front of Hollis with a smile. Hollis snapped his notebook shut angrily, and stood up.
‘Is there anything else we can do for you?’ Danforth asked with exquisite courtesy.
‘Thank you, no. I have no doubt, Major Danforth, that you will be hearing further about this matter.’
‘Silly little prick,’ Coates said when the door had shut behind the civil servant.
‘You two were obviously already acquainted,’ Danforth said with a grin as he sat down behind his desk with a sigh of relief. He waved Coates and Tiller into chairs. ‘How’s your shoulder, Tiger?’
Tiller had spent six weeks in the local hospital after his wound had become infected. ‘Fine now, sir, thank you.’
‘Good, because I think it’s best if we move you on. Our Mr Hollis is a persistent individual. He seems to forget there is a war to be fought and it’s people like you and me who have to fight it. If he insists on an official inquiry, I have no doubt as to what the outcome will be, but it will mean withdrawing you from operations while it’s held and lots of bumf flying around.’
Danforth stood up and went over to the window.
‘By coincidence I heard from an old friend of yours and mine yesterday, Major Tasler.’
Tiller had forgotten about Blondie and his plans for a Special Operations Group. The interview at Combined Operations seemed a long time ago now.
‘He wants you to join him in Ceylon as soon as possible.’
‘But, sir . . .’
Danforth turned and spread his hands. ‘It might be better if you’re out of the way until all this has blown over, Tiger.’
Tiller nodded reluctantly, not disguising the twinge of disappointment he felt. He had just begun to enjoy himself in the Arakan. The work of A Group SBS rather suited his abilities and he was, he thought, just beginning to get the hang of things.
Danforth watched Tiller’s reaction and tapped a pencil on his teeth. ‘I must confess I did everything I could to keep you here. But now that Hollis is intent on stirring things up I think it’s best for you to go. There’s a lorry going to Chittagong this afternoon. The RAF will fly you to Kandy from there. Think you can be ready?’
Tiller reluctantly agreed that he could be. ‘Did Major Tasler say what he wanted me for?’ he asked. The thought that after all he was destined to become a Welman instructor filled him with dread.
Danforth shook his head: ‘I have no idea. I assumed you would know.’
‘I think it’s for me to become a Welman instructor with this new Special Operations Group.’
Danforth raised his eyebrows. ‘They’ve got Welmans in Ceylon, have they? I wonder why.’
12
The Liberator bomber lurched clumsily into the air from the muddy airstrip, the noise of its four engines filling the fuselage with a barrage of sound as it climbed steadily towards the great bank of monsoon cloud that lay directly in its path.
Tiller breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken nearly two days before a sufficient break in the rain allowed the aircraft to take off. He had spent them in the tin-roofed hut which served as the sergeants’ mess, watching the rain beat down outside; or playing gin rummy for too much money with the flying crews of the Special Duties squadron based on the strip.
The crews of the SD squadron – American, Australian Canadian, and New Zealanders as well as British – had been quite open about their work, discussing in front of him both its hazards and its technical difficulties. They answered without hesitation his questions about their operations, for as soon as they had seen his parachute wings he had been immediately accepted by them. It was then that Tiller heard of Force 136 for the first time and the guerrilla war against the Japanese that, with the Force’s help, was being waged in the Burmese hills.
