“What the devil’s up now?” He turned hotly on his companion, and then fell silent.
Ling’s face was impassive, his eyes squinting against the sun. He slowly removed the cheroot from his lips and blew out a thin white cloud. “Captain,” he said quietly, “there are three aircraft flying out of the sun!”
He said it so calmly that Rolfe stared at him for a second, before the words and their full significance, dawned on him. Even as he stared up at the bright expanse of blue he heard the distant whine of powerful engines, and then, on the very rim of the sun, he saw three tiny silver specks, flying in a tight, arrowhead formation. From the fort behind and above him, he heard the dull booming of a big bell, followed at once by the banshee moaning of a siren, repeating the warning in the town below.
“The thin edge!” Ling’s voice was a hiss and he followed the tiny shapes through expressionless eyes. He jerked the gear lever, and the jeep rocked back into the centre of the road and started to plunge crazily down the winding track at an alarming speed.
Rolfe ignored the rocking, protesting frame beneath him, and swivelled round in his seat, watching the planes with anxious eyes. Damn them, he thought desperately, yet he had known that this would come. They were nearer now and already were forming into single line, the manoeuvre being performed with such lazy grace that their whining engines clashed with their peaceful and gentle movements.
The tyres screeched, and for a moment Rolfe looked straight down the crumbled side of-the cliff. “Can you take me to the ship?” he asked urgently, all thoughts of Laker banished from his mind.
“Certainly, Captain!” Ling hooted impatiently at a group of men and women, who stared open-mouthed at the intruders. They scattered from his path, the sudden movement transmitting fresh urgency to others who stood helplessly nearby, and soon, the sides of the road and the tiny hill tracks were dotted with stumbling, running figures, their mouths moving soundlessly in the roar of the jeep’s engine.
Rolfe felt a sense of detached calm creeping through him, a feeling of flat resignation which he had known before when he had realized that action was imminent. He had seen such sights many times. As a young Sub-Lieutenant during the German invasion of Greece, and again in the freezing misery of Korea. Always he remembered the blank, tight faces, staring skywards.
They burst into the shabby market place, zig-zagging between the deserted stalls and scattering townsfolk, and plunging recklessly past the flimsy bazaar buildings. A blind beggar in his filthy rags stood alone on a corner, his head cocked in frantic terror, and calling about him in a quavering voice. A child sat crying on some rush mats, its tiny face puckered into the misery of its generation.
As they swung on to the harbour wall, Rolfe saw the guns of the gunboat already following the diving aircraft, and heard the harsh bark of commands. Somewhere behind him the aero engines rose to a mad scream, blotting out all other sounds and forcing reason from the mind.
As the jeep braked, Rolfe flung himself across the jetty, dimly aware that Ling was already turning the vehicle round and hareing towards the town.
Chase’s voice bellowed suddenly from the battery deck, “Stand by, all guns!” The machine-guns had also been mounted on either side of the bridge, and they too swung menacingly in a tight arc.
Rolfe bounded down the gangway and ran breathlessly to the upper bridge, where he found Fallow and Chase following the aircraft with their glasses.
“No firing!” Rolfe’s voice was a mere choke. “Only if we are attacked!”
Fallow dropped his glasses to his heaving chest, the relief flooding to his paled face. “Aye, aye, sir!” He screwed up his eyes and pointed frantically, “There they come!”
The air was filled with the high, harsh rattle of machine-guns, and the steady thump of cannon, and as they stared, holding their breath, one aircraft dropped like a diving sea-bird and streaked across the low roofs of the town, its wings alive with spitting orange flames. As the cannon shells and bullets raked savagely along the streets and clawed across the cringing houses, they saw the woodwork and flying dust churned into an inferno of noise and fire.
Even as the plane pulled out of its dive, its engine racing madly, the others followed in, the bright red stars gleaming clearly on their stubby wings.
Helplessly they followed the remorseless, darting attacks, and saw the growing pall of black smoke, splashed here and there by creeping tongues of flame.
A few guns answered sporadically from the high fortress, but as Rolfe had guessed, most of them could not be depressed sufficiently to grapple with the twisting aircraft, which were now flying considerably lower than the cliff itself.
Something clanged against the bridge plating and screamed away across the harbour, but Rolfe hardly flinched. He was watching the cruel destruction with anger and pity.
“Signalman!” he shouted sharply, “take this signal, and get it coded up at once!” He followed the silver shapes, his features composed into an expressionless mask. “To Admiralty, repeated Commander-in-Chief. Communist aircraft attacking Santu. Will commence evacuation immediately. Estimated sailing time twelve hundred tomorrow. Request permission to assist in anti-aircraft defence of town!” He watched the signalman scurry into the wheelhouse and tried to shut out the screaming engines. God knows what other sounds they are shielding from the town! he thought bleakly.
“Number One! Stand by to slip all wires and cable if we are attacked!”
A growing plume of smoke thickened around the funnel as Louch and his men sweated in the heat of the engine-room to raise steam.
Then at some secret signal, the aircraft turned away, their shadows flicking across the bridge itself and then bounding distortedly over the peaceful water. He could see the helmeted heads of the pilots as they set course for their distant base.
As the engines died, the spluttering crackle of burning woodwork, and the crash of falling stone, added a new horror to the scene, and as they waited, they heard the rising moan of countless tongues bonded together in their pattern of fear and agony. It was a chorus from hell.
Fallow swallowed hard, his hands rubbing the teak rail with agitation. “D’you think they’ll be comin’ back, sir?”
Rolfe shook his head. “No, not yet, at any rate. I think that was just a token of things to come! They’d have sent over more aircraft if they were really in earnest!” He had already dismissed the planes from his mind and was concentrating on the sudden urgency of his plans. “Number One!” he began briskly, his sharp tone hiding his gnawing anxiety. “Send for Chief Petty Officer Herridge, and I want Lieutenant Vincent as well!” He watched Fallow’s slow movements and the clearly defined marks of worry on the ugly face. “Well, snap it about then! We haven’t got all blasted day!”
Alone once more, he turned his gaze back to the town, the main fear in his mind taking full possession of his feelings. The hospital—would it be all right? Would she be safe? He frowned impatiently as he heard the clatter of feet on the ladder.
Herridge saluted, his strong face calm and unruffled.
“Look, Chief, I want you to take ten men ashore at once! Collect first-aid gear and stretchers and go into the town and see if you can assist the authorities. Muster your party right away and report to me before you move off.”
Herridge saluted again, his face unmoved, and hurried purposefully away. His powerful voice rang along the deck as he went, already issuing orders and detailing his men.
Rolfe sighed deeply. Thank goodness someone knew how to carry out instructions without question and argument! A slight breeze wafted the pungent odour of burning across the harbour and he twitched his nostrils unwillingly, catching the tang of destruction.
Vincent panted up the ladder, his eyes smarting from the smoke.
“Go at once and see Laker! Tell him to round up the others and get them down to the ship as soon as they can manage it! I want ’em all aboard by tonight!”
“But that, that’s a day earlier than you told them, sir!”
“The Communists have altered the programme slightly!” snapped Rolfe bitterly, “so get to it and I’ll hold you responsible for anyone left out!”
“Yes, sir,” answered Vincent, his cheeks colouring. “I shan’t forget!”
He, too, hurried from the bridge and Rolfe forced himself to follow him down to the main deck, where an orderly bustle was in progiess. Herridge was instructing his party quietly on the jetty and called down to Rolfe as he appeared. “All ready to move off, sir!”
He saw Fallow leaning on the guardrail, staring fixedly at the water. He looked as if he was going to be sick.
“I’m off to the hospital, Number One. Send a messenger after me if anything else happens!”
He ran across the gangway, aware that Fallow was watching him wildly, his brown eyes pleading as if to say, not again! Don’t leave me alone in the ship again!
They marched briskly along the wall, Rolfe conscious of Herridge’s long shadow behind him, and the tramp of booted feet on the hot stonework. As they passed the first’ group of dwellings Rolfe’s stomach tightened and he quickened his pace.
The huddled houses beside the market place were all ablaze, and the tinder-dry wood and rush roofs flared skywards with a steady roar, great gouts of red flame and dense smoke billowing across the open roadway. A surging mass of people ran wildly from house to house, some trying to save pathetic possessions and others searching and tearing at the thin walls. Along the length of the market place several still shapes lay scattered in distorted positions, like discarded bundles of rags. The blind beggar was still in the road, but kneeling by the side of one of the flung bodies and running his thin hands dazedly across the contorted face and dead eyes which stared at the sky. As the sailors clattered by, he raised his head and croaked at them in a thin falsetto voice, his mouth wet with the saliva of fear.
“All right, old man,” Herridge growled. “Keep your hair on!” And to Rolfe, “Not much we can do about him, sir?”
Rolfe shook his head briefly. “Poor bastard! Must be nearly out of his mind!”
The aircraft had been using plenty of incendiary shells, he thought, there was so much flame and smoke everywhere. He set his jaw tightly and stepped to one side. A small child lay spreadeagled on its face, a crude wooden doll clasped firmly in one hand. The middle of the child’s back gaped open in a large crimson hole, through which the shattered bones shone whitely in the sun.
Two soldiers with canvas buckets were throwing water half-heartedly into a smouldering shopfront and Rolfe saw another soldier leading some dazed and bleeding creatures from a side door.
“There you are, Chief! Get to work with that lot! But keep your party together!”
Herridge pushed his cap on the back of his head and stood feet astride in the road, taking in the chaos and destruction. “Right, you lot! Lend these soldiers a hand with the water! And you two get the bandages out!”
The white uniforms of the ratings stood out in the whirling stream of confusion and pain, like an island of sanity and order, and without question, the soldiers redoubled their efforts under the watchful eye of the tall, grim-faced Herridge.
Rolfe pressed on up the road, trying to remember his way through the labyrinth of alleys and side streets. People jostled him blindly and he had a continuous impression of gaping faces and terrified eyes, and above all, the rising wave of panic.
An old woman, her sunken face running with tears, blocked his path, her gnarled hands clutching at his arm and her toothless mouth uttering a persistent hysterical gabble of words, which he could only guess at. He gripped her thin shoulders firmly and looked down at her frantic face.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, Mother,” he said quietly, “but I know what you mean.” His calm voice had some effect, for she searched his face in wonder, her sunken eyes looking for fresh assurance. But Rolfe released her and forced his way through the press of bodies in the narrow street.
A group of men stood staring at a woman kneeling on the ground, her hands like claws in her black hair, and her slim body rocking slowly from side to side. Rolfe didn’t have to hear her wailing tones, her desperate lament, to know the reason for her grief.
A twisted, fire-blackened corpse, its face gone completely, lay by her knees, the clothing still smouldering, the stench of charred cloth mingling with that of burned flesh.
It was almost a relief to break through into the coast road and to feel the sea’s caress again, but as he broke into a run through the scattered fishermen’s huts, his stomach contorted suddenly, and his feet faltered. The hospital, at first glance untouched, was still as he had remembered it, but across the front wall was a savage pattern of round holes.
He brushed aside two gesticulating men and ran panting up the sandy slope, for once unconscious of the sweat pouring from his body, and the heat, made more suffocating by the dense pall of smoke, which like a death-pall, lay everywhere.
He burst into the long waiting-room and almost fell headlong over a still shape by the door. As he blinked his smarting eyes he saw that every inch of the floor was filled with motionless bodies, some with their faces relaxed and dark, as if already dead, and others, whose bright, bead-like eyes followed his approach like helpless birds. As he groped his way forward, one of the bodies arched itself in the shape of a bent bow and emitted a spine-chilling scream. Those near it twisted their packed limbs as if trying to disassociate themselves from this surrender to pain. The man, for man it had once been, screamed again, the whites of his eyes shining starkly in the sunlight which streamed through the holes made by the bullets. The rough bandage across his chest burst open and a deluge of blood flooded on to the floor. The man relaxed and stared in amazement as his life gushed away. Then with a shudder he dropped back, his mouth open in an unfinished grin. A silence fell once more and Rolfe retched at the smell of fear and vomit which pressed on him from every side.
Somehow he got across the room without treading on anyone and reached the door of Dr. Felton’s surgery. He hung on to the handle, not daring to think of what he might find. Beyond the door a girl cried out in pain and the next second Rolfe had the door open and was in the surgery.
Felton was struggling with a twisting body on the rough operating table, while his servant repeatedly tried to bandage the girl’s foot, which to Rolfe’s eyes, looked as if it was hanging by a mere thread. The sheets on the table were torn and bloody, and Felton himself was glistening with exertion and what seemed like near-exhaustion.
“Here, let me!” Rolfe stepped forward and pressed the girl’s shoulders flat on the table, while Felton straightened up in surprise. His ghastly face twisted into what might have been a smile, and then he ducked round the table to his patient’s foot. Rolfe saw the girl’s face darken with pain and her eyes rolled upwards until only the whites showed. “For God’s sake! Haven’t you got any anaesthetics?” he gasped.
Felton jerked and twisted, and Rolfe sickened as he heard something drop into an enamel bowl. “Used ’em all! Not a ruddy thing left!” He stood up and felt the girl’s pulse. He nodded and dashed the sweat from his eyes. “Good! She’s still with us!” Then over his shoulder he shouted hoarsely, “Judith! I’ve finished with this one! Come and give Chu a hand with her!”
Rolfe stood back from the table, his mouth suddenly dry, staring at the door. She was all right. She was safe. In this nightmare place, with death and suffering all round, and the terrible mangled mask of Dr. Felton, he had hardly dared to hope! The door swung back and she hurried towards him.
The untidy smock swirled round her and he felt real pain at the sight of the dark smears across it and the stains on her small hands. She had her arm under the girl’s head before her glance settled on him, and even then she seemed unable to clear the mistiness from her wide eyes.
Felton coughed weakly, beating his chest with his fist. “Good girl. Not many more now!” His good eye winked. “The Captain’s back, Judith! He’s working for me now!”
Rolfe reach
ed out shakily and gently eased her arm from the table. “Here, I’ll do that! Just show me what to do.”
She smiled suddenly and Rolfe realized that she had been very close to tears, and lifted her small chin defiantly. “I’m so glad you could come!” she said softly, and staring down at her stained gown she grimaced, her slim shoulders suddenly tired. “What a mess I must look!”
“When you’ve both finished!” Felton’s voice was amused. “Would you mind fetching the next one in, please?”
Rolfe laid the body which had been nearest the door across the table and looked round desperately. “Have you any paper?”
Felton pointed to the littered desk. “Help yourself. Going to write to the United Nations?”
Rolfe scribbled a message on a sheet of writing-paper. “Could you have this sent to the ship? I have told my First Lieutenant to supply the bearer with a case of medical equipment. I thought it might help!” he added hastily, in case Felton’s iron pride got the better of his judgement.
Felton was already examining his new patient. “Chu! Go to the gunboat with the message. Give to officer and bring back medicine!” And as the little man scuttled away he reached out awkwardly and touched Rolfe’s sleeve. “Thanks!” he said shortly.
Judith had been watching them, and as Rolfe looked up at her he noticed that her huge eyes were brimming with tears. But as she ran from the room he saw also that there was a small smile on her soft mouth.
They worked on in silence until Chu returned with the heavy metal box, and then Felton examined the contents with dull satisfaction. “Not bad at all!” he breathed softly. “It’ll come in very handy!”
“I’m only sorry we haven’t got a doctor aboard to give you a hand.”
“I can manage!” Felton’s voice contained something of his old harshness, and he stooped over the gasping body on the table. “These poor devils are used to hardship!”
Send a Gunboat (1960) Page 12
