Send a Gunboat (1960)

by Reeman, Douglas

  “Does it show?”

  “When you’ve been stuck on this place as long as I have you get to notice even the smallest bit of emotion.” She wriggled her shoulders and pouted, “I’m sick to death of it!”

  “Pretty lonely for you, I expect?”

  “Lonely? That, my dear Captain, is the understatement of the year! I go for the odd trip each year, but what the hell! People who matter treat you like a hick when they know you live on this god-forsaken spot!” She glanced across Rolfe at her father. “Of course, you’ve noticed Daddy thinks it’s heaven here. That’s because he’s the local tin god!” She eyed him dreamily. “I expect you get a bit lonely, too?”

  “At the moment I feel completely alone!” admitted Rolfe grimly, although his mind was working along a different track.

  “Perhaps we can do something about that?” she breathed, her lip quivering. “You’ll have to let me show you round while you’re here!”

  Vincent watched them carefully, shading his eyes with his lashes. She’s whimpering for it, he thought enviously. Wish I could hear what they’re saying. Queer type, the Captain. The more you saw of him, the more surprising he became. Vincent’s heart pounded as he watched the girl draw an imaginary design with her finger on Rolfe’s sleeve. He shifted his eyes to his Captain’s face and immediately became irritated by the blank expression in those cold, grey eyes. What sort of a man is he? Must have ice-water in his veins! One minute he looks like a young sub-lieutenant at his first party and the next his face is as hard as rock.

  A servant refilled his glass and he drank deeply, feeling the sweet tang of the rice wine tingling in his throat. Wonder how Fallow feels about all this drink? The fat fool, he thought contemptuously. There was a slight disturbance as Laker heaved his huge body upright. Vincent leaned forward, showing an affected interest. Actually he was amusing himself with the mental picture of Laker and Fallow trying to pass through a door together.

  “Hrrm! Ladies an’ gentlemen!” Laker stared solemnly round the table. “I give you a toast. The Queen!” The glasses clinked obediently and automatically. Laker was apparently behaving as usual. He beamed at them and raised his glass again. “And another, to our guests, the officers of the gunboat Wagtail!”

  There were several polite “Hear, hear”, and Laker stared down at Rolfe, his small eyes flashing.

  “We’re all delighted to see these chaps, and I know you’ll want me to speak for you in that respect. It makes us all proud and humble, too, to realize that we’ve not been forgotten in our hour of need!”

  Vincent watched Rolfe’s taut features for some sign of alarm or discomfort, but there was no answer to his probing glance. Rolfe sat stiffly in his chair, staring fixedly at his glass.

  Vincent trembled with excitement. What a story this would make when he got back to Government House! All these pathetic characters, cut off from the outside world, but living what they believed to be normal lives, and still imagining that they were protected by the umbrella of British democracy. He shivered suddenly, gripping the sides of the chair. Rolfe had risen to his feet as Laker, flushed and breathing heavily, sat down.

  Rolfe put down his glass carefully, conscious of the silence and the pounding in his veins. He spoke slowly, his clear, firm voice lending impact to his words. He thanked Laker for his kind welcome, and for a moment Vincent imagined that he was going to by-pass the main issue, but the next instant he knew that the real drama had begun.

  “As you all know, the menace to this island from the Communist mainland has been growing considerably during the last few months, and the situation here, for the small British community especially, has taken on a much graver aspect. It is for that reason that I am speaking to you in this manner, as I have the unexpected opportunity of seeing you all together in this convenient and friendly setting.” He paused and sipped at his glass, which had been imediately refilled. Fallow stared blankly at his plate, his fat chins working miserably as he unseeingly demolished a dish of prawns. Rolfe eyed him for a moment and continued: “Her Majesty’s Government have watched your growing danger with some concern and that is the real reason for my ship’s presence in Santu.”

  Laker nodded gravely and whispered to Grant, “Told you so, old boy!”

  The muscle in Rolfe’s cheek jumped noticeably and he appeared to be speaking with some effort. “It is therefore my duty to inform you all that arrangements have been made to evacuate you to Hong Kong in my ship within the next forty-eight hours!”

  There was a stunned silence and Vincent hardly dared to glance at the others around him. It was like a first-night at a really good play. Rolfe had spoken his lines with terrific impact and the audience had reeled before him.

  Laker was the first to recover his speech. He jumped to his feet, his mouth working frantically. “What the devil are you sayin’, sir? Are you mad? Off yer head?”

  Rolfe eyed him for a full four seconds without answering, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

  “If you would be so good as to let me finish, Mr. Laker,” he answered quietly. A few tiny beads of sweat glinted on his upper lip. Apart from that, he was outwardly the calmest person in the room.

  “I was going to add,” he continued, “that I have just received a signal from my Commander-in-Chief to the effect that a full military invasion is now imminent, and I’m afraid, unavoidable! So further delay, or any other solution which might once have been possible, is now out of the question. I shall make you as comfortable as I can aboard, although I’m afraid that only personal gear, and small possessions can be carried with you.”

  Laker was still standing at his side, his small eyes popping with rage. “You’re talking rubbish! We’re not leaving with you, or anyone else, d’you hear?” He glared round for support. “What the devil is happenin’ here, eh? Has everyone gone completely mad?”

  “Please, dear!” His wife fluttered anxiously to his side. “You mustn’t excite yourself so!”

  “Excite meself! I’ll damn well show ’em!”

  “Just a moment, suppose it’s right what the Captain’s just told us?” Edgar Lane interrupted uneasily. “I mean, we’ve seen what can happen when the Reds move in on a place!”

  The young Masters couple moved closer together in alarm, their faces white.

  “I can assure you I am right,” said Rolfe, when the babble of voices subsided. “There is no alternative.” He turned to Laker. “I would have told you about this business at once, sir, but I didn’t know then what I now know to be the facts. I know how you feel and I sympathize with you deeply. “But—” he shrugged—“it is the luck of the draw.”

  Laker stared at him incredulously. “What are you saying? Why, it’s—it’s rank impertinance! I’ll break you for this, if it’s the last thing I do!”

  Grant rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Calm down, sir, you know as well as I do that it’s none of the Captain’s doing. We must face facts!” He smiled bleakly at Rolfe. “You don’t pull your punches, I must say, but looking back over the last five minutes, I don’t think I would have been in your place for a million pounds!”

  Laker collapsed into his seat, his face suddenly very old. “God!” he whispered in a thick voice, “it’s the end! The finish of everything!”

  Ursula Laker hadn’t stirred from her lounging position, but her face twisted into a scornful smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Daddy! We’re not short of cash, and I for one will be glad to see a bit of life again!” She raised her eyes to Rolfe, the green lights dancing beneath her lashes. “Well spoken, Captain. Now tell us the rest of the good news!”

  Rolfe studied her face thoughtfully without recognition and then leaned his hands on the table. “I have been instructed to tell you also that there must be no panic and no undue warning of our intentions!”

  Laker roused himself from his posture of despair. “Dammit! Must we slink out of here, too?” He laughed shakily. “Just like all the others, eh? India, Africa, Palestine, Suez and all the rest! Creep out with our
tails between our legs!”

  “This is not British territory,” Rolfe’s voice was quite flat and devoid of emotion. “It is practically part of the Chusan Archipelago and it has no government of its own.”

  Vincent thought Laker would have a fit. His cheeks wobbled and his mouth spluttered in fury. “No government? What the hell’s the General doin’ then?”

  There was a sharp crash and everybody jumped at the sound, their incredulous eyes riveted on Rolfe’s doubled fist which had slammed down suddenly on the table. He was leaning forward, the grey eyes no longer quiet and patient, but flashing with fierceness that seemed to shrivel Laker where he stood.

  “Now listen to me!” he barked, “and I mean all of you! Mr. Laker has just mentioned the General. Well, I haven’t met him yet, but I will tomorrow morning. He is the ruler of this island as it stands, I am not denying that! But where is the government? A couple of thousand soldiers strutting round the place like the bandits that they are, while the half-starved thousands of this miserable population exist on what they can scratch from the land or fish from the sea. If they think the Communists can offer them something better, and let’s face it, they couldn’t be much worse off, what choice d’you think they’ll make when the troops start landing?” He glared at Laker, a lock of dark hair falling over one eye. “Is this the paradise you want the British navy to fight for? D’you honestly think this island is another Formosa? Worth another world war, perhaps?” His chest heaved under the white tunic. “Well, whatever you think, Mr. Laker, you’re leaving with me. Quietly and sensibly! I would have thought that a man of your experience would realize how the Communists could make use of you and your families, as scapegoats!”

  “I think you’d better stop, Captain!” Mrs. Laker’s voice shook, and she held her thin arms protectively across her husband’s massive shoulders.

  “Stop?” Rolfe laughed wildly, but there was no mirth in the sound. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Mrs. Laker. It’s just that I’ve got sick and tired of hearing about the achievements here! If you want to know the Communists’ strongest lever to get you out of here, just ask yourselves who have gained from these achievements. The wretched population, or you?” He dropped his arms to his sides, suddenly limp.

  “Any further questions?” His face was wet under the lamp-light.

  Grant nodded his square head. “What d’you want us to do first, Captain?” He spoke as a leader, and the others seemed eager to avoid looking at Laker, who had walked slowly out on to the darkening veranda.

  “I shall want you to have all your necessary gear packed and ready to be moved aboard by tomorrow midday. Bring it down yourselves, altogether if possible, anyone watching will think it’s stores. D’you have a lorry or something like that?”

  “We’ve a couple of estate vans,” nodded Grant, his practical face squinting with concentration.

  “Good, that’s fine. Don’t forget, not a word!”

  Ursula stretched her long legs. “What would happen if the news got around?”

  Grant bit his lip. “I can answer that one, I think. There’d be quite a lot of people would like to go too, eh?”

  Rolfe smiled briefly. “Right. That would very likely be the case. It would also draw the attention of our friends on the mainland, who might very well bring their invasion on a bit earlier!”

  Laker shuffled past, gripping his wife’s arm. “Goin’ to think for a bit. Got to have time to think. All a bit of a shock!” He glared back at Rolfe with something like his old confidence. “See you damned for this!”

  Vincent sighed loudly. It had been perfect, and he felt a little weak.

  Rolfe’s gaze swung on him suddenly. “All right, Vincent. Back to the ship. I want a state of readiness as from when you arrive. Just as I explained it to you!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Vincent stood up sulkily, yet vaguely pleased by the audience, who watched him with mingled emotions of fear and frustration.

  Fallow rose too, his belly sagging untidily, and his big hands plucking at the seams of his trousers. “Sir?” he choked, his face a mass of worry, “shall I go, too, sir?”

  Rolfe grinned crookedly. “No, certainly not, Number One. We’ll finish our drinks in comfort. Let the youngster do the work!”

  Fallow sweated miserably and edged closer to his Captain, his ugly nose looking like part of a grotesque mask. “D’you think it’ll be all right, sir? I mean ‘bout us leaving’?” His throaty voice was drowned by the babble of excited conversation from the others.

  “All right?” Rolfe was looking at him with a wild gleam in his eyes, “Safe as bloody houses, I should think!”

  Fallow groaned inwardly. The Captain was looking odd again. Must do something. He looked appealingly at the girl, who was watching them with brazen interest.

  “That was a mighty good dinner we ’ad, miss!” he blurted desperately. “Your father certainly knows how to give a party,” he ended lamely.

  She stretched and smoothed her dress with slow movements of her hands. “Quite so,” she agreed solemnly. “And I must say the speeches afterwards were a cut above the usual!” She smiled wickedly at Rolfe, who was frowning absently at his glass. “Have another, Captain? It might help!”

  Rolfe took the drink without answering, his eyes now on the murmuring groups in the far corner of the room. The party was breaking up, and with quick nods and nervous smiles, the guests began to depart.

  Grant, puffing busily at his pipe, paused at the door. “Well, see you tomorrow, Captain. No doubt we’ll see things a bit clearer then. I only hope you know what you’re up to, for all our sakes!”

  The door closed, and the three of them exchanged glances.

  “You’ve really got ’em stirred up!” commented the girl, her voice signifying that she wanted no part of it.

  “Could be,” nodded Rolfe, his eyes still vague.

  Fallow felt the uneasiness growing in the deserted room, and sweated accordingly. Got to do something! Must think of a way to get ’im back to the ship!

  “I think I’ll go down into the town!” Rolfe’s voice brightened, as if he had just suggested something original. “Good a time as any to meet this doctor of yours!”

  “Not mine!” she exclaimed, standing up suddenly. “Still, if you must go cantering off down there at this time of the evening, I’ll drive you in Daddy’s car.” She marched towards the door, her long legs flashing, as if eager for the exercise. She called casually over her shoulder, “I said I’d show you round, anyway!” There was a tremble of deeper excitement in her voice.

  Rolfe stared at the littered table and discarded chairs. “Pity, pity! Always mess everything up!” His gaze sharpened, “Ah, Number One, just a little left, I see.” And he hurried gleefully to the oak sideboard and snatched up a bottle.

  Fallow followed him dumbly. He had lost count of the Captain’s consumption of drinks during the evening, but it was something quite fantastic.

  Rolfe pushed the bottle towards him. “Go on,” he prompted. “Fill your boots!” His eyes shone glassily, and his grave face was twisted into a smile, which was filled with bitterness.

  Fallow shook his head frantically, “Please, sir, don’t you think—I mean—wouldn’t be better if, if you—” he stopped, beaten again.

  Rolfe patted his shoulder playfully, “Don’t worry, Number One, I’m all right. Jus’ a little bit tired,” he waved his hand, as if to clear a mist away from his face. “Quite a party, as you so right—, rightfully observed! I would say that all the natives are friendly!” With a gulp he finished the bottle, as with a screech, the car pulled up outside the veranda.

  Although a cool breeze now filtered up from the sea to fan the parched earth, Ursula’s bare shoulders gleamed defiantly from behind the wheel of the long, throbbing car. She shook her short curls and pushed open the door. “Come on, come on! Town tour just starting!”

  Rolfe jammed his cap clumsily on his head, and slid awkwardly into the wide bench-seat beside her. As if in after
thought, he beckoned to the ponderous figure in the doorway. “Come on, Number One! Y’heard what the lady said!”

  Ursula grimaced as the car sagged under the man’s weight, but trembled as Rolfe was forced against her. The car whined and bounded forward along the straight estate road, the headlights cutting through the darkness like twin white swords. The estate gates were flung open hurriedly, and the girl laughed wildly, her hair rippling in the wind.

  “Is it safe to be out late in the car, miss? I mean, didn’t they say there’s bin shootin’ an’ that?” Fallow tried to see her expression.

  “Relax, little man!” she cried, her voice choked with laughter. “They’d rather shoot the General than interfere with this car!”

  The tyres screeched in protest as the car hurtled on to the main road, loose gravel rattling up under the wings. Trees, boulders and huts flashed into the headlights, distorted into frightening shapes and were swallowed up behind them.

  Fallow’s body stiffened, as the luminous dial of the speedometer showed the needle quivering at eighty. She’s drunk, or mad, he breathed, she’ll kill us all in a second! He felt Rolfe jolting loosely with the lurching motion of the car, his face was hidden in the shadow of his cap.

  Ursula pressed her foot down harder, regardless of her skirt which had blown halfway up her lap. As a wheel grated across a hump in the road, Rolfe sprawled heavily against her. Taking one hand off the wheel she groped for one of his, and breathing hard, she pressed it down against the smooth skin of her thigh. It lay there, warm and strong, but unmoving, and she twisted her head to see his face.

  It was at that very second that Fallow saw the small figure standing transfixed in the swinging headlights.

  “For Christ’s sake!” he screamed. “Look out!” He scrabbled vainly for the handbrake in the darkness, dimly aware of the rising scrape of the brakes and the sliding, rolling motion of the car. There was a sickening jolt as the front wheels left the road, and a thousand clutching branches scratched and crackled against the metal sides. Then there was silence but for the distant barking of a dog and the patter of falling leaves across the bonnet. The headlamps still blazed, throwing their glare against the trunk of a gnarled tree in which the twisted bumper bar was embedded.