No one answered, and Judith’s small chin jutted defiantly. “How is the Captain this morning?” Her soft voice was directed at Fallow, and by her calm assurance she seemed to exclude everyone else.
“Pretty tired, miss,” he beamed at her admiringly. “’E’ll be right pleased to see you about so soon agin! Are you feelin’ a bit better?”
She smiled dreamily. “Much. Ursula has been looking after me, and she’s fitted me out with some clothes.” She dropped her eyes. “I didn’t have much in the way of a wardrobe when I arrived aboard!”
Ursula chuckled. “Had to root about in your hold, or whatever you call it, to find those! Masses of bags and boxes everywhere!” She paused, frowning slightly. “By the way, who’s that magnificent man, I think his name is Herridge? He helped me to search.”
“Oh, ’e’s the Chief Bosun’s Mate, miss. A very fine chap!” Got her eyes on old Herridge, has she? Well, well. Do him good, he thought.
Ursula winked at Judith. “Well, why isn’t he here? Has he had his breakfast already?”
Laker banged his fist on the table. “Oh, for God’s sake, girl! He’s an N.C.O., he doesn’t eat with us! He’s only a—”
“Ranker?” Fallow’s face was deceptively amiable.
Laker ignored his interruption. “And anyway, why the devil have you been messin’ around in the store?”
“But I just told you,” Ursula answered slowly, her eyes watching her father like a cat.
“I heard! It makes me sick to see a daughter of mine mixing with that little, little—” he spluttered helplessly, trying to find a suitable insult.
Judith turned her wide eyes in his direction for the first time. “Why do you hate me so much? What have I done to you?”
Laker ran his eyes over her slim body, his face bitter. “You and your kind have ruined everything my country stands for!”
Mrs. Laker fluttered at his arm. “Really, dear! What has she to do with what’s happened? I’m sure she’s quite a nice girl really.”
Judith bowed her head, her mouth half-smiling. “Thank you very much! I am very grateful for your kind remarks!”
Fallow, who had been preparing to throw something at the other man, relaxed slightly. This girl was, as Ursula had described her, a little nymph. But she could take care of herself all right!
Mrs. Laker coloured, making her sallow cheeks appear more waxen. “You must understand that it’s been a terrible shock to my husband, after all he’s done! It’s not his fault that you avoided us in Santu!”
Laker shook her hand from his arm, and Mrs. Laker sank back, exhausted by her own outburst.
“You and your brother were too busy with the Reds for that, eh?”
One of her small hands darted to the medal at her throat, and when she looked up, her hazel eyes flashed with anger.
“He tried to help those people you were exploiting! The Communists killed him, or didn’t you know?”
Ursula jumped up angrily. “For God’s sake, shut up, Father! Judith’s suffered more in the last twenty-four hours than you have in a lifetime! You make me sick!”
Fallow decided it was time to intervene. “Er, I think you’d better keep quiet, Laker! Miss Judith is still on the sick list, as far as I’m concerned, an’ I’m not ’avin’ ’er disturbed!”
“I’m all right!” Judith’s eyes were moist. “I’m not afraid any more!”
Fallow patted her hand gently. “I know. But our old friend ’ere seems to delight in upsettin’ people!” He glared threateningly at Laker. “An’ I’m not ’avin’ it, see?”
A dark shadow fell across the wardroom, and Rolfe stood black against the clear sky. He watched Judith quietly, and she smiled up at him, her face suddenly alight and clear.
Without taking his eyes from her, he announced slowly, “An aircraft was just sighted, circling astern.” His words fell heavily into the stillness. “It may have reported our position, I’m not sure. But I am going to close up the ship at action stations and I shall want all the passengers to be ready to go below to the storeroom again!”
Fallow was already on his feet, his face impassive, but his eyes dull.
“Does it mean that we shall be attacked?” Ursula spoke calmly, watching her mother.
“It might.” Rolfe’s voice was unemotional and cold. “If we are, we shall try to keep our distance from any hostile ship until darkness comes. That will be our best chance.”
Laker leaned on the table, his small eyes blinking “What can you do in a ship like this? We won’t stand a chance!”
Reluctantly Rolfe dragged his gaze from the girl. “There is always a chance,” he answered calmly. “The evacuation is completed, with the exception of Mrs. Lane and Doctor Felton, and we must face up to future events, whatever they may be. When we return to Hong Kong you can see the Governor and find out what proceedings can be opened with the Communist Government with regard to compensation, that is, if you’re not too busy making accusations about my conduct.” He smiled coldly, his grey eyes tired and red-rimmed with fatigue. “So you see, there’s plenty for all of us to do!” He cocked his head, as the alarm bells began to jangle throughout the ship. “Right I must leave you now. One of my Chief Petty Officers will be here in a second to assist you.”
“Herridge?” Ursula’s voice was casual
“Yes, Miss Laker, Herridge.” He watched her, his mouth relaxed.
“Would you come to the bridge for a moment, Judith? I’d like to have a few words with you.”
She smiled at the formality of his words, and he grinned awkwardly, aware of the curious and bitter glances around them.
Fallow noticed how stiffly Rolfe carried his shoulders beneath the white jacket. No doubt the blisters were playing hell with him. He sucked at his denture admiringly. He was a cool customer, right enough. In spite of his inner coldness, he smiled, drawing some confidence from the Captain’s tall figure as he piloted the girl out on to the deck.
They climbed up the swaying ladders to the upper bridge, where the gun’s crew sat inertly on their small seats, while the waiting shells gleamed brassily in the racks.
“Well, Judith?” He guided her to the far corner of the open platform, and together they looked down at the deserted decks. “Are we dreaming? Or are we still together, and away from that place?”
She moved closer to him, and he felt the gentle pressure of her thigh against his leg.
“We are together. Now and always!” she answered simply, but he could detect the warmth and emotion in her words.
He reached for her hand. “In a few moments I’m going to be pretty busy.” He felt her body tense. “But I want you to know that whatever happens, I shall be thinking of you!”
“Lieutenant Fallow has said I’m still an invalid,” she said gravely, and for a moment he thought she had not heard him, “so I can’t be expected to go down below with the others, can I?” She gripped his arm tightly, her eyes pleading. “Don’t make me go, Justin! I want to be close to you all the time, just in case—” She left the sentence unfinished.
He turned his face away, a burning in his eyes. “You can stay in my quarters, Judith. I’ll have someone keep an eye on you.”
She pressed her head against his arm and he gently stroked her hair, ignoring the intense stares of the gunners. What difference will it make? he thought. If we are hit by those big guns, no hiding place will be safer than any other.
It was sometime before she spoke again. “Last night, Justin,” she faltered, “I thought I was dreaming, but was it you touching my body and looking after me?”
“Yes, Judith. I hope you understand.” He watched her anxiously. “I didn’t want anyone else to be near you at that moment!”
Her lips curved into a slow smile. “That’s what I thought. And that’s how I wanted it to be.”
“Deck there!” The ringing voice of the masthead look-out shattered the peace of that perfect moment. “Ship, hull-up on the horizon! Bearing Red One-three-five!”
; Rolfe grabbed for his glasses and focused them on the shouted bearing. At first he could distinguish nothing, but as the gunboat hung momentarily on the top of a lazy swell, he caught a brief glimpse of the tiny black smudge on the very rim of the sea.
He lowered his glasses. “Time to go, Judith. But don’t forget what I told you.”
She lowered herself over the side of the bridge and hung motionless on the metal rungs of the ladder.
“I won’t forget. And I shall be thinking of the times when we will not be separated, ever again!”
The sun kissed her loose hair before she vanished from his view. For some moments he stared blankly at the empty ladder, realizing how he had changed, and how he suddenly wanted to live again.
The other ship was still visible on the horizon, but her outline was shrouded with haze, and carried no defined shape. He glanced at the silent gunners, and Chase, who was checking the shell racks. It was an air of resigned calm which hung over the gunboat. Rolfe had felt such tension many times in the past, but never had the odds seemed so grim, or the prospects so cruel.
He nodded curtly to Chase, and then lowered himself to the wheelhouse, where Vincent and Fallow were waiting for him.
“Ship closed up, sir,” announced Fallow tonelessly. “I’ve told the engine-room to stand by for another emergency speed order.”
“Very good.”
Vincent rubbed his palms against his tunic, and stared round at the steel shutters. He seemed to have difficulty in breathing.
Rolfe eyed him keenly and caught Fallow’s meaning look. “It’s a bit stuffy in here,” he remarked. “It’ll be worse when the sun’s high!”
Vincent looked at him blankly and licked his lips. “How long have we got, sir?” His voice was unsteady.
“All the time in the world,” snapped Rolfe. “Now let’s take a look at the chart again.”
He felt their bodies closing in behind him as he switched on the chart light in the darkened space behind the bridge. He traced the ragged outline of the coast with his finger, picturing it in reality, as it lay off the ship’s starboard beam.
“Shoal waters and three groups of small islands,” he murmured softly, “all within the next sixty miles. The Taichau group are already abeam, and there are these smaller ones next. Not much in the way of habitation on this part of the coast, apart from the odd fishing village.” He heard Fallow’s heavy breathing and sensed them both watching his hand on the chart. “We’ll have to chance there being any coastal batteries and drive in amongst these islands if it comes to a running battle!”
Vincent groaned. “Then there’s no chance of, of getting away without fighting?”
Rolfe pivoted round sharply, his eyes cold. “Very little, I should imagine!” He dropped his voice, enclosing just the three of them in his words. “I think this is going to be a pretty tight situation and when it breaks, there’ll not be much time for fresh thoughts. I shall do what I can, and I am relying on you to see that we make the best of ourselves! This is an old ship and a forgotten ship at that. But for this work, she’d be under the breaker’s hammer right now! But she’s a British ship, and part of the Service to which we belong! We were chosen for one job, which we’ve now completed, but there’s something else quite different happening now, which the planners didn’t bargain for. No doubt it’ll be argued about and fought over in the United Nations, if the worst happens, and protests will be exchanged by all the governments concerned; but that’s not our worry! What we must realize is that we are quite alone, and this is still a naval ship!” His mouth twisted into a grim smile, which made his taut face look cruel. “We will act accordingly. Any questions?”
He watched each of them in turn, Vincent, pale-faced and hollow-eyed, and Fallow grimly set into a mould of determination.
“We ain’t exactly cut out for this sort of caper, are we, sir?” Fallow forced a grin.
Rolfe smiled. “The impartiality of Admiralty often carries remarkable effects in its wake!”
Vincent made some effort to gather himself together. “It’s all so unfair!” He sounded like a small boy. “So damned unfair!”
Fallow coughed nervously. “’Ere, come off it, Vince! Let’s ’ave some of the old flannel you used to give me! I’d feel better if you bucked up a bit!”
Vincent shook his head dazedly and for a moment Rolfe thought he was going to break into tears. “I’m all right,” he muttered, “I don’t have to be told what to do!”
Fallow breathed deeply. “Good! ’Cause if you don’t start showin’ me ’ow a proper officer should behave, Vince, I’ll never forgive you!” He shrugged helplessly at Rolfe, and began to tighten the strap of his binoculars about his neck.
“Very good, Number One. Carry on with the gunnery control, and good luck!”
Fallow tore his eyes from Vincent. “Aye, aye, sir. This’ll be somethin’ to tell the wife about, anyway!” He shambled away, his fat shoulders hunched under the load of his worry.
Rolfe stepped on to the wing of the bridge and felt the probing rays of the sun piercing his tunic, as if eager to irritate his raw back. The ship was nearer now and he could detect the faint trail of smoke hanging motionless across the clear sky.
It would be soon now, he thought. It was so brutal and final, and yet so slow, that he wondered if Nelson’s officers had felt as he did, when the fleets of tall ships drifted closer and closer, across waters as flat and calm as these. He ran his eye wearily over the deserted decks. There was an air of expectancy which seemed to chill him, despite the heat, and even the engines sounded subdued.
From each mast and from the stern the huge White Ensigns flapped gently, and across the boards at his feet he saw the black shadow of the gun, like a pointing finger, as it silently followed the other ship.
I wonder what Laker thinks now? And the others, stuck down there in the storeroom? And what of Edgar Lane in the Sick Bay? Was he still mourning the loss of his trees, or had the impact of his wife’s death reached his tortured mind?
Judith. Her name hung in his mind as he tried to picture her behind the steel shutters. What would she be thinking?
He banged his hands on the rail with sudden anguish. It was bad enough, without having to risk her life again!
The muffled voice of the range-finder drifted down to him. “Target altering course! Target’s course One-nine-oh! Range Oh-eight-double-oh!” He watched the destroyer’s low shape lengthening. She’s trying to head us off. That shouldn’t be too difficult with her speed, he thought bitterly. What’ll her first move be, I wonder?”
Vincent spoke flatly from the wheelhouse. “We are closing first island, sir. We are inside Chinese waters now!”
Rolfe watched the destroyer narrowly through the glasses. “Hold your course!”
The Chinese captain was anticipating that, he thought. Just waiting for us to pull away, and then. And then, what?
The islands, yellow and green in the sunlight, were so many and so closely bunched that it was impossible to determine the channels between them. From the gunboat they looked like part of the coast itself. He caught his breath as a small orange flash darted from the destroyer’s grey shape, and seconds later the dull boom of the gun echoed across the glittering water.
Rolfe counted automatically, and as he watched, a tall waterspout rose high in the sea, about a hundred yards ahead.
“First shot. Half a cable, at Red-one-five!” The range-finder’s expressionless voice might have been noting the score at a darts match.
The two ships moved on, their courses practically parallel, while Rolfe watched the islands, and waited. The seconds passed, and then the minutes. He felt the sweat gathering at his waist and running freely down his arms.
Fallow’s voice from above was hushed. “They’re holdin’ their fire, sir. What are they playin’ at?”
“Listening!” Rolfe’s voice was flat and uncompromising. “They’re waiting for us to start wirelessing for assistance.” He paused. “And when we don’t, they’ll
know it’s safe to go ahead!”
Fallow’s head disappeared, and Rolfe frowned. He had wanted to reassure Fallow, but the false words had eluded him.
“How are the islands, Vincent? Are we still closing?”
It seemed an age before he replied, and his voice shook. “First one on the starboard quarter now, sir. There are the next little group opening up on the bow.” He faltered. “Those shoals marked on the chart are visible, too!”
He could see the destroyer clearly now. The range was about three miles. Something told him it was time to act.
“Tell engine-room, full emergency!” His voice was a metallic rasp in the still air.
He felt the bridge trembling and the wake frothed and mounted under the low stern.
There it was! A ripple of four flashes along the grey hull and the louder crash of heavy guns following quickly behind.
“Hard a-starboard!”
“Hard a-starboard, sir,” repeated the helmsman, “thirty-five of starboard wheel on!”
As the triple rudders bit into the surging water, the flat-bottomed gunboat tacked round like an experienced boxer. Even as she turned, the calm sea was torn apart by the tangled, leaping walls of spray. The four shells landed as one and amidst the din and the roar of cascading water, Rolfe heard Vincent cry out involuntarily.
“Midships! Steer Two-seven-oh!” He watched the swinging compass repeater and then stepped into the wheelhouse, slamming the steel door behind him. He cursed the inadequacy of the observation vents and rested his glasses on the warm metal, conscious of the sour taste in his throat.
Again the roar of distant gunfire pommelled his eardrums, and once more the salvo clawed towards the twisting gunboat.
Vincent turned his agonized face from the front of the bridge. “God! We’re almost on those rocks!”
“Signalman, read back the reports from the echo-sounder, directly they’re passed to you!”
Randal, the signalman, his face screwed up with concentration, held his ear against the voice pipe.
“Six fathoms!” he reported almost at once.
Rolfe pushed past Vincent and watched the unbroken line of reefs ahead of him. The gleaming necklace of rocks seemed to clash with the placid island beyond, and the mottled sheen on the shallow water.
Send a Gunboat (1960) Page 26
