Send a Gunboat (1960)

by Reeman, Douglas

  “A very nice girl, Captain!” Ling began to hum softly.

  Rolfe smiled, his head spinning. “Yes, Major. A very nice girl!”

  “She and the Doctor will be leaving with you?”

  “All being well,” answered Rolfe non-committedly, “I think it would be much safer for them.”

  “You have no faith in the General’s defence plans?” Ling spoke with heavy irony. “You feel perhaps that it will be a walkover for the invaders?”

  “I didn’t say that!” He glanced sideways at this strange, imperturbable man. He felt a twinge of pity for him at that moment, realizing that in a space of days, or hours, he might be dead. Ling’s expressionless face showed no sign of fear, or even anger, or annoyance. His hands were relaxed on the wheel, and his long legs were curled comfortably above the metal floor. “Perhaps the Communists will change their mind,” he added, without much conviction.

  “You do not know them as I do, Captain! They will come, as surely as night follows day.” He shrugged, as if bored with the whole matter. “But a tree must be pruned regularly to be kept alive and healthy!”

  Rolfe lapsed into silence, puzzling over the last remark, and then as the jeep topped a rise in the road, he jerked upright in his seat, staring at the distant shape of the Wagtail at her new mooring.

  Ling chuckled softly. “Do not be alarmed! I’m afraid that I unworthily forgot to mention that your ship had moved its berth. Or perhaps I didn’t want to trouble you in your moment of happiness!”

  Rolfe stared at him, looking for a sneer, but Ling merely chuckled again. “It was nothing, Captain, just a little disturbance in the town. Some of the rabble wanted a free ride to Hong Kong, and I think your admirable second-in-command thought otherwise!”

  Good for him, breathed Rolfe softly, I’ll bet poor old Fallow was upset, all the same. Aloud he said, “All quiet now?”

  “At the moment. Of course, some of the most responsible citizens are away in the fishing fleet. These hot-heads are the rabble-rousers, and wasters!” His eyes narrowed to hard slits. “They will have plenty to occupy their minds soon!”

  “And what about you, Major?” Rolfe asked quietly. “What are your hopes for the future?”

  “The future? Maybe I shall see you in far-off Hong Kong one day!”

  The wheels kicked up twin banks of white dust, as the jeep rolled on to the market place, and slowed down by the harbour entrance. Rolfe stood at the side of the jeep, and stretched himself, feeling the heat strike upwards through the soles of his shoes.

  “So long, Major! In case I don’t see you again, all the best!” They shook hands, and Rolfe trudged along the wall, watching his ship, and wondering about Judith and her brother.

  Some of the soldiers who sprawled in the shade stared at him indifferently, and some saluted sketchily, while others turned their faces away, gripping their rifles tightly. Probably wishing they were coming with us, he thought grimly.

  Herridge’s head popped up over the stonework almost at his side, jerking him from his thoughts.

  “Boat’s here, sir!” And he steadied the motor-boat with his foot on the stone steps, so that Rolfe could climb in.

  The engine coughed, and rattled, and then with a jerk, the boat moved away from the wall, churning the water into a creamy froth. The two seamen stood smartly with their boathooks in the air, conscious of the many eyes on their precise movements, and Rolfe heard Herridge growl from the tiller. “Heads up there! Don’t forget you’re making history!”

  “Be off to England after this, Chief? For your new job?”

  “Aye, sir,” the blue eyes twinkled, “I shall be sorry in a way though, to leave the old Wagtail.”

  “No ship as good as the last ship,” muttered Rolfe half to himself. “The navy never changes much, does it Chief?”

  The man laughed deep in his chest. “Never, sir! Who else but our navy would send a ship of this vintage on a job like this?” He dropped his eyes to Rolfe, his smile fading, “No disrespect meant to you, sir.”

  “None taken, Chief!” Rolfe answered lightly. He means because I’m Captain of her, he pondered. Well, the task was nearly over now, he reflected, and whatever the Admiral might say, it hadn’t done him much good. Laker would see to that when he got back.

  As the motor-boat curved towards the Wagtail’s gangway, he caught a glimpse of the distant fort, although in the heat-haze it was difficult to estimate where the cliff left off and the rugged walls began. The General was sitting at his chessmen, he grimaced, and the Admiral playing with his little flags. How strange were the men who could become powerful and unyielding.

  He still couldn’t get used to stepping out of a small boat straight on to a ship’s main deck. Even in a frigate he’d had a long companion ladder to contend with. He saluted the quarterdeck, and acknowledged the shrill of the Quartermaster’s pipe.

  He allowed his body to relax, as Fallow padded forward to meet him. Get ready to deal with every eventuality, he thought. Funnily enough, it no longer seemed to bother him.

  “I’m so glad you’re back, sir! I had to move the ship because of the mob which came runnin’ down the jetty at us!” He gulped in a fresh breath, his chin sagging over his tight collar. He looked as if he was expecting the Captain to fly into a rage, or start to bombard him with complaints.

  Rolfe smiled pleasantly, and nodded approvingly. “Well done, Number One! You’ve done a good job! Just as well we had the old cable laid out, eh?”

  Fallow peered at him nervously, and seemed on the point of smelling Rolfe’s breath, at any rate, his amazement and his relief were clear to see.

  “All our passengers aboard, yet?”

  “Er, most of ’em sir. The Masters couple, and the Grants are fixed up, and Lieutenant Vincent’s gone for the Lakers, and the other two, er, Mr. Lane an’ his wife.”

  Rolfe frowned, and glanced at his watch. “Very good. Send the hands to tea now, and let me know if anything new occurs to your mind. Vincent ought to be here soon, I should think.” Bloody young fool, he thought, probably having quite a time now that he’s got the stage to himself.

  Chao was waiting for him, and smiled happily as Rolfe walked into his quarters, dropping his jacket on the deck, and lazily stepping out of his trousers.

  The shower felt good, and he hummed softly as he scrubbed away the dust and dirt of the town, and the fatigue of the sun.

  I wonder how she’ll get on with the other women passengers? he thought, rubbing the soap from his thick hair. I think I’ll put her in with the Grant woman, she looked human enough.

  Laker’ll have to share my quarters, I suppose, blast him! The Acting British Consul could hardly be confined to the Chiefs’ Mess! He laughed delightedly at the picture, and Chao, busy as usual with a fresh uniform for his master, cocked his head with satisfaction. The Captain must have discovered something good in Santu, he decided.

  Fallow sat at his usual seat at the wardroom table, watching the stewards pass round the tea and biscuits. It was worse than ever in the wardroom now, he thought darkly, with a crowd of uneasy-faced civilians eating and drinking silently all around him.

  Grant and his wife consumed their tea unseeingly, Grant no doubt thinking of his wasted years, and his wife occasionally darting a worried look in his direction.

  The Masters couple, and Fallow could never think of them as individuals, sat very close, and but for two or three whispered words, they added nothing but discomfort to his gloom.

  Bloody Vincent’ll be back soon! Still he at least would keep these people off his hands, with his yarns of Government House, and so forth! Why was he still worried? He creased his brows, trying to pin down the exact reason. In a few days he’d be safe, and getting ready to leave China for good, and all the misery and humiliation would be a thing of the past. He leaned back in his chair, momentarily forgetting his companions, and tried to picture Mary waving up at the ship as she docked. Mary, warm and understanding. She’d understand everything, and wouldn’t laugh
at him. He smiled drowsily, seeing the bungalow in the photograph, with its neat garden, and a view of the sea. In the evenings they’d sit together on the little lawn, and watch the lighted liners heading across to Southampton. And he’d smoke his pipe, and say, did I ever tell you about the time I was First Lieutenant of the Wagtail? He nodded heavily forward, the single lick of hair on his shining head dropping untidily over his ear.

  Louch’s head and shoulders were protruding from the engine-room hatch, while he took a breather, and a cup of strong tea, which Herridge had brought down to him.

  It was cool under the awning, and a strong breath of warm air was sucked past them by the whirring engine-room fans.

  Louch smacked his lips. “Nice cuppa!” he commented.

  “How’s the old box of tricks down there?” Herridge squatted on the hatch coaming. “Rarin’ to go?”

  “Too right it is! Captain’s ordered me to stand by until further notice. Just in case we decide to leave a bit earlier than we planned, I guess!”

  “He’s alright, the Captain! And he seems a bit more cheerful today too.”

  Louch grinned unsympathetically. “Not much of a job for a young two-an-a-half-striper, is it? Still, I daresay he’ll get something better after this lot! He’s got quite a load on his plate, an’ no mistake!”

  “He’ll be O.K. I expect. He’s a darn sight better than a lot of skippers I’ve known, and that’s a fact!”

  Louch swilled his cup, and shook it carefully over the side. “He’ll do!” he said briefly.

  As he eased himself back on to the ladder, he squinted across at the town. “I hope we don’t forget anything when we go,” he grinned, “I don’t reckon we’d find it very easy to get in again, with the Commies in the place!”

  Herridge picked up the cup, and nodded. “It’d be like trying to open an oyster with a bus ticket!” He laughed shortly, and wandered back to the mess, where Chase lay snoring on his bunk.

  * * * * *

  Vincent breathed deeply, and studied his reflection in the ornate mirror, running a comb through his fair hair. A weak, trembling sensation still clung to his loins, and he saw the gleam of wild satisfaction in his eyes. He put the comb in his breast pocket, and patted his uniform into shape.

  He heard a movement behind him, and Ursula stepped round the screen, her face flushed, and eyes averted. She swayed towards him, her lips parted and moist.

  “How do you feel?” he asked, the excitement still making his voice unsteady.

  She rubbed the palms of her hands lazily on his shoulders, still avoiding his gaze. “It was wonderful, David! I wish it would go on for ever!” She pressed herself against him, her hair nestling his chin. “I’m glad we’ll be together on the ship.”

  He ran his fingers along her spine, and felt a tremor run through her soft body. “You’re shameless!” he laughed. “But you’re also very right!” He felt as if he was riding on a wave, and he wanted her again, that very moment. He pulled her tighter, thinking of Hong Kong, and the possibilities of the future. Janet wouldn’t like this, he thought, but she could go to hell! Janet was a babe-in-arms compared with this creature!

  He jumped violently as a loud roar shook the building, followed by a sullen rumble, which died away almost before he could recover his senses. They stared at each other, uncomprehending.

  “What the hell was that?” He gently prised her arms from his neck, and walked to the window.

  The sun had moved across the trees, and the low fields were pooled in purple shadows.

  Behind the thick leaves, a pall of smoke was rising, and even as they watched, a red and yellow tongue of flame licked hungrily at the first rank of trees.

  Ursula gasped. “There’s a fire! The whole estate is alight!”

  Vincent felt vaguely uneasy, and listened to the growing crackle and roar of blazing timber.

  “The reservoir! It’s gone!” Her voice trembled, “That must have been the explosion!” Her eyes were fearful, as she turned towards him, “What does it mean?”

  Vincent reached to the table, and buckled on his heavy pistol, his face grim. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, we’re getting out, right now!” He forced himself to light a cigarette, and draw in the smoke calmly, for his own sake, as much as hers. “Get your mother into the car, and I’ll look for your father!” He ran lightly down the steps, aware of the complete air of desertion which hung over the whole estate.

  “David!” Her call pulled him up short. “Don’t be long, will you?”

  He grinned back at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not in any state to walk much!” But when he hurried away, he felt the anxiety rising like a frog in his throat.

  He hadn’t covered more than a hundred yards, when he saw Laker walking slowly towards him. His big body was unsteady, and he carried an empty bottle in his hand like a club. He raised it to his mouth, and then, with a grunt of disgust, sent it hurtling into the field. “Take that!” he shouted thickly, and then he saw Vincent.

  “Well, my boy! You’re a bit late for the fireworks, I’m afraid!” His speech was slurred.

  “What have you done, sir?” But he already knew. The fool, he thought, no chance of a quiet exit now!

  “Blown up the whole blasted place! None of these yellow bastards’ll ever get the chance to live off my work and sweat!” He threw back his head and laughed noisily. “What a damned shock they’ll get, what?”

  “I think we’d better go, sir!” Vincent said tightly. “There may be trouble!”

  “Balderdash! Haven’t you got any guts either?”

  “Yes sir, and I want to hang on to them!” He turned back to the house, and grumbling and laughing intermittently, Laker stumbled after him.

  Ursula was helping her mother into the car, and she looked at her father with disgust. “You’ve made a fine mess, haven’t you?”

  Mrs. Laker reached out weakly as Laker staggered to the car. “John, I want to know—”

  “Shut up, for God’s sake! The lot of you! You’re worse than a pack of bloody wogs!” Laker glared defiantly. “I was just sayin’ to Vincent here that—” he stopped as Edgar Lane, followed by his wife, appeared round the side of the building.

  Lane’s face was white with shock, and he clawed at Laker’s sleeve, trying to speak. When his voice came, it was almost a scream. “My trees! What have you done to my trees?” He stared wildly at Laker’s red-rimmed eyes, and he gripped his arm more tightly. “You’ve killed them! Oh God, my trees!” he sobbed. Melanie Lane looked from face to face, her mouth slack and pleading.

  “Your trees? Damn your eyes, sir! They’re mine, d’you hear?” Laker swayed heavily. “I always knew you were cracked, you fool! Now get out! Go to hell if you like!” He brushed the man’s hand away and staggered up the steps of the house.

  Vincent stepped forward. “Have you got a car, Mrs. Lane?”

  She nodded dumbly towards one of the estate cars.

  “Well, get on down to the harbour. At once, please,” he added curtly. “Can you drive?”

  She nodded again, and pulled her husband’s arm. “Come on, Edgar,” she edged him to the car. “Try not to think about it!” She forced him into the seat, and ran round to the other door. As the car moved away, Vincent saw Lane staring back at the growing fire. There were tears in his eyes.

  Ursula slid behind the driving wheel, and they waited silently, until Laker reappeared, an oil lamp in his fist. As he stood looking back at the house, he suddenly hurled the lamp into the long room, where, half-an-hour earlier, Vincent had made love to his daughter. It exploded, as the burning oil splashed across the wooden floor in a fiery stream.

  “Damn you!” shouted Laker at the house. “Burn away!” he fell in the back of the car, breathing heavily. Mrs. Laker edged away from him, making herself small in the corner.

  As Ursula pressed the starter button, Vincent moved closer to her, keeping his voice low.

  “Listen, Ursula! Whatever you see or hear, keep driving, got that?”
r />   She whispered a quiet “Yes”, her face pale under her tan.

  “There’s likely to be a bit of trouble before we get to the harbour. Everyone’s bound to have seen the smoke, and heard the explosion, and maybe they won’t like it much!” He set his lips in a tight line, and drew the pistol from its holster, feeling the metal warm against his leg.

  The car swung on to the roadway, and gathered speed along the deserted estate, and through the wire gates. Vincent noticed that there were no guards this time.

  Laker muttered and swore in a dreary monotone, and Vincent began to hate him. Blasted fool, didn’t he understand the instructions about leaving quietly? Ah well, it was too late now.

  “The smoke seems to have blown right down here,” Ursula said jerkily, as the car dashed down the centre of the main road. Her eyes widened with fear, as Vincent answered her, his voice flat.

  “That’s different smoke! It’s in front of us, around the next bend!”

  Nobody answered him, but he saw the girl’s hands tighten on the wheel, and she hunched her shoulders defensively.

  Still keeping to the centre of the road, the long American car swung round the wide bend, the dust spewing from under the wings in a choking cloud.

  At first Vincent could only gape at the surging mass of people who filled the road ahead, and then he choked back a gasp of horror, as he saw the blazing station wagon, crackling like a bonfire in their midst.

  The roar of the fire, and the wild shrieks of the mob, deadened the sound of their car, and as they got nearer, Vincent saw the contorted face of Edgar Lane pinned against the flaming coachwork by a crude forked stick at his throat, while a forest of groping, frenzied hands clawed and battered at his twisting body.

  Then the car was amongst them, and they got blurred impressions of gaping, snarling faces pressing in on them in a wall of savagery. The windscreen frosted over, as a heavy club swung across the bonnet, and Vincent heaved himself to his feet, his teeth bared, while he clung to the dashboard for support. He dimly realized that the car was stopping, and as he raised the heavy pistol, he heard Ursula cry out, as her door was jerked open, and two brawny arms seized her shoulder, ripping open her dress. She screamed again, her mouth slack with terror, as the man’s broken nails clawed her bare shoulder, dragging her relentlessly from her seat.