It must have been an extraordinary sensation. Shears did his best to describe it as accurately as possible. Warden was intrigued as he listened to him.
"I can well imagine it, Shears. And the raft held together?"
"Another miracle! I could hear it cracking whenever my head happened to be above water level, but it did hold together—except for a second. It was the youngster who saved the situation. He's first class, Warden. It was like this. At the end of the first rapids, when we were just beginning to get used to the dark, we crashed into a huge rock bang in the middle of the river. We were literally thrown up in the air, Warden, on a cushion of water, before being snatched down again by the current and dragged over to one side. I should never have thought it possible. I saw the obstruction looming up when we were only a few feet off. There was no time. All I could think of doing was shooting out my legs and straddling a bit of bamboo. The two Siamese were chucked off. Fortunately, we picked them up again a little further down. Pure luck! But do you know what he did? He only had a split second to think. He flung himself flat on his stomach right across the raft. Do you know why, Warden? To keep the two halves together. Yes, one of the ropes had snapped. The shafts were slipping and the two bits were beginning to come apart. The bump must have shaken them loose. A disaster—he took it all in at a glance. He thought fast. He had the sense to act and the guts to hold on. He was in front of me. I saw the submarine rise out of the water and leap into the air, like a salmon making upstream—just like that; with him underneath, clinging onto the bamboo sticks. He did not let go. Later on we fixed the bits together as best we could. In that position, you realize, his detonators were in direct contact with the plastic, and he must have taken a hell of a toss. I saw him right above my head, I tell you. Like a flash of lightning! That was the only moment I was conscious of the explosives we were carrying. It didn't matter, of course. There wasn't the slightest danger, I'm sure. But he had realized that in a split second. He's an exceptional chap, Warden, I know it. He's bound to succeed."
"A wonderful combination of sound judgment and quick reflex action," Warden agreed.
Shears went on in a low voice:
"He's bound to succeed, Warden. This job is part of him, and no one can stop him going through with it. It's his own personal show. He knows that. You and I are only onlookers now. We've had our day. All we've got to think about now is making his task as easy as possible. The fate of the bridge is in good hands."
At the end of the first rapids there had been a lull, during which they had put the raft together again. Then they had another rough passage through a narrow gap in the river. They had wasted some time in front of a pile of rocks which obstructed the proper flow of water, causing a vast slow-moving whirlpool upstream, in which they had been caught for several minutes without being able to move any further.
At last they had escaped from this trap. The river had widened, going suddenly sluggish, which had given them the impression of being washed out onto a huge, calm lake. Soon afterward they had caught sight of the bridge.
Shears broke off and gazed in silence at the valley.
"Strange to be looking at it like this, from above, and seeing the whole thing. It's got quite a different appearance when you're down there at night. All I saw of it were separate bits flashing past, one after the other. It's those bits that matter to us right now—and also afterwards, for that matter. But when we arrived it was outlined against the sky surprisingly clearly. I was scared stiff someone would see us. I felt we were as visible as though it was broad daylight. Just an illusion, of course. We were up to our necks in the water. The submarine was submerged. It even showed signs of sinking completely. Some of the bamboos had caved in. But everything went off all right. There was no fight. We glided silently into the shadow of the bridge. Not even a bump. We tied the raft up to one of the central piles and got down to work. We were already quite numb with cold."
"Any particular trouble?" asked Warden.
"No particular trouble, I suppose, Warden—unless you think this sort of job is all in the day's work."
He fell silent again, as though hypnotized by the bridge, which he could see still shining in the sun, the light-colored wood showing clear above the yellowish water.
"All this seems to be happening in a dream, Warden. I've had that feeling before. When the time comes, you wonder if it's real, if the charges are really there, if it's really true that one touch to the plunger of the generator is all that's needed. It all seems so utterly impossible. There's Joyce, less than a hundred yards away from the enemy's lines. There he is, behind that tree, watching the bridge. I bet he hasn't moved an inch since I left. Just think what could happen before tomorrow, Warden. If a Jap soldier should happen to amuse himself by chasing a snake into the jungle ... I shouldn't have left him there. He shouldn't have got into position until this evening."
"He's got his knife," said Warden. "It's up to him. Tell me about the rest of that night."
After a long immersion in water a man's skin becomes so soft that mere contact with a rough object is enough to bruise it. Hands Eire particularly sensitive. The slightest scrape tears strips off the fingers. The first difficulty had been untying the ropes which had been used to fasten the kit onto the raft. They were rough native cords bristling with thorny prickles.
"It sounds like child's play, Warden, but in the state we were in . . . And when you've got to work underwater, and without making a noise. Look at my hands. Joyce's are the same."
Once again he peered out over the valley. He could not stop thinking about the other man waiting over there on the enemy bank. He lifted his hands, examined the deep cuts which had stiffened in the sun, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, went on with his account
They had both carried sharp knives, but their frozen fingers could hardly handle them. And then, even though plastic is a "tame" explosive, digging into it with a metal instrument is not exactly recommended. Shears had soon realized that the two Siamese were not going to be of any further use.
"I was frightened of that all along, and had said so to the youngster before we set off. I told him we would have to rely on ourselves and no one else to get the job done. They were completely done for. They stood there shivering and clinging to one of the piles. I sent them back. They waited for me at the bottom of the hill. We were left on our own. For work like that, Warden, plain physical stamina isn't enough. The lad stood it magnificently; I only just did. I think I was at the end of my tether. I must be getting old."
They had unpacked the charges, one by one, and fixed them in position according to the destruction plan. They had to struggle every minute to avoid being swept away by the current. Clinging to each pile with their toes, they had to lower the plastic a sufficient depth into the water for it to be invisible, then mold it against the wood so that the explosive would act with maximum efficiency. Fumbling about under water, they tied it on with those awful, prickly, searing ropes, which scored bloody furrows across their palms. The mere gesture of tightening the cords and tying the knots had become sheer torture. In the end they were forced to bob down and do it with their teeth.
This part of the operation had taken most of the night. The next task was less arduous, but more tricky. The detonators had been inserted at the same time as the charges were fixed. They now had to be linked together with a network of "instantaneous" fuse, so that all the explosions would occur simultaneously. This is a job that demands a cool head, since a slip can cause a nasty mess. An explosives "circuit" is much the same as an electric circuit, and each separate element has to be in its proper place. This was a fairly complicated one, for, in order to be on the safe side, Number One had doubled the number of fuse lengths and detonators. These cords were fairly long, and the bits of iron which had been used to trim the raft had been fastened to them so as to make them sink.
"At last everything was ready. I don't think we did too badly. I thought I had better make a final inspection of the piles. It wasn't nece
ssary. With Joyce, I needn't have worried. Nothing will shift out of place, I'm sure."
They were worn out, bruised and battered, shivering with cold, but they grew more and more exultant as they saw the end of their work in sight. They had dismantled the submarine and had let the bits of bamboo float off, one after the other. All that remained was to float downstream themselves, swimming toward the right bank, one carrying the battery in its waterproof case, the other paying out the wire which was weighted at intervals and kept afloat by the last hollow stick of bamboo. They had reached dry land at the spot they had reconnoitered. The bank there rose in a steep slope and the vegetation came down to the water's edge. They had camouflaged the wire in the undergrowth, and then hacked their way a dozen yards or so into the jungle. Joyce had set up the battery and generator.
"Over there, behind that red-colored tree with its branches trailing in the water. I'm sure that's it," Shears repeated.
"Everything seems to be under control," said Warden. "Today's nearly over and he hasn't been discovered. We should have seen from here. No one's been anywhere near him. There's not much going on in the camp itself, either. The prisoners left yesterday."
"The prisoners left yesterday?"
"I saw quite a large column leaving camp. That party must have been to celebrate the end of their tasks, and the Japs obviously don't want to keep a lot of men hanging about here doing nothing."
"That makes things still better."
"There were a few who stayed behind. Casualties, I suppose, who weren't able to walk. So you left him over there, did you, Shears?"
"I left him over there. There was nothing more I could do and it was nearly dawn. I hope to God no one gets wind of him."
"He's got his knife," said Warden. "Everything's working out perfectly. It's getting dark now. The Kwai valley is already in shadow. There's no chance of anything happening now."
"There's always a chance of something happening when you least expect it, Warden. You know that as well as I do. I don't know exactly why it is, but I've never yet come across a single instance of things going according to plan."
"That's true. I've noticed that myself."
"I wonder what we should expect to happen this time.
When I left him, I still had a little bag of rice and a flask of whisky on me—the last of our provisions, which I had been carrying as carefully as the detonators. We drank a mouthful each and I left him the rest. He assured me for the last time that he felt perfectly confident. I left him there on his own."
21
Shears listened to the constant murmur of the River Kwai echoing through the jungles of Siam, and felt strangely perturbed.
He was now quite familiar with this ceaseless accompaniment to his every thought and gesture, yet this morning he was unable to recognize either its rhythm or volume. He stood motionless and uneasy for some time, all his faculties on the alert. Gradually he became aware, without being able to define it, of something unaccountably strange in the actual physical surroundings.
It seemed to him that in these surroundings, which were part and parcel of his very being, some transformation had taken place during his one night in the water and his one day spent on top of the mountain. The first sign of it had been his feeling, shortly before dawn, of inexplicable surprise. This had been followed by an odd impression of uneasiness which had gradually seeped up through his subconscious and developed into an actual thought—vague at first, but desperately struggling to express itself in more precise terms. Now, at sunrise, he was still unable to put it more clearly than in these words: "Some change has occurred in the atmosphere round the bridge and above the river."
"Something has changed. . . ." He whispered the words over and over again. His special sense of "atmosphere" hardly ever deceived him. His uneasiness developed into real anxiety, which he tried to dispel by logical argument.
"Of course, there's been a change. It's perfectly natural. Sound varies, depending on the place from which you listen. Here, I'm in the forest, at the foot of the mountain. The echo is not the same as on a hilltop or on the water. If this job lasts much longer, I'll end up by hearing things . . .
He looked through the branches, but noticed nothing unusual. The river was barely visible in the dawn. The opposite bank was still nothing but a solid gray mass. He forced himself to concentrate exclusively on the plan of battle and the disposition of the various groups waiting to go into action. Zero hour was not far off. He and four partisans had climbed down from the observation post during the night. They had settled into the positions chosen by Warden, close to the railway line and just above it Warden himself and two other Siamese had stayed with the mortar. From up there he would be able to command the whole theater of operations and be ready also to lend a hand after the attack. That was Number One's decision. He had told his friend that they had to have a European in command at each important post, to act on his own initiative if necessary. It was impossible to foresee everything or to give detailed orders in advance. Warden had understood. As for the third, the most important member of the team, the whole operation depended on him. Joyce had now been over there, exactly opposite Shears, for over twenty-four hours. He was waiting for the train. The convoy had left Bangkok during the night. A signal had reported its departure.
"Something's changed in the atmosphere . . ." Now the Siamese with the light machine gun was also showing signs of alarm. He was squatting on his haunches, looking at the river.
Shears could not get rid of his feeling of uneasiness. The vague thought was still struggling to express itself more clearly, yet still defied analysis. Shears's brain was intent on solving this exasperating mystery.
The sound, he could swear, was now no longer the same. A man with Shears's training was quick to note the symphony of the natural elements; he recorded it instinctively. This ability had served him well on two or three previous occasions. The shimmering eddy, the particular gurgling sound of water rushing over sand, the creak of branches bending with the current, all these this morning formed part of a different, less noisy concert— certainly less noisy than last night's. Shears seriously wondered if he was not going deaf. Or perhaps his nerves were not quite so steady?
But the Siamese could not have gone deaf at the same time. There was something else. All of a sudden another aspect of his impression flashed through his mind. There was a different smell as well. The smell of the River Kwai this morning was not the same as it had been. An oozy, dank miasma predominated, like the exhalation from a mud flat.
"River Kwai down!" the Siamese suddenly exclaimed.
And as the light began to reveal the details of the opposite bank, Shears suddenly realized. The tree, the big red tree where Joyce was hiding, no longer had its branches trailing in the water. The River Kwai had sunk. The level had fallen during the night. How far? A foot perhaps? In front of the tree, at the bottom of the bank, there was now a pebbly beach still sparkling with water and shining in the rising sun.
The moment he realized this, Shears felt relieved to have found the explanation for his uneasiness and regained confidence in his nerves. His instinct had not let him down. He was not yet going mad. The eddies were no longer the same, neither those in the water nor those in the air above. It was really the whole atmosphere that had become affected. Newly exposed earth, still wet, explained that dank smell.
Disaster never makes itself felt at once. The mind's natural inertia enforces a delay. Shears realized the fatal implications of this commonplace occurrence, one by one.
The River Kwai had sunk. In front of the red tree could be seen a broad flat area, which yesterday had been underwater. The wire—the electric wire! Shears uttered an obscene oath. He took out his field glasses and anxiously scanned the area of solid ground which had emerged during the night.
There was the wire. A long piece of it was now high and dry. Shears scanned it all the way from the water's edge up to the bank: a dark line dotted here and there with tufts of grass swept up by the cu
rrent.
All the same, it was not too noticeable. Shears had managed to see it because he was looking for it. It could pass unnoticed if a Jap happened to come along that way. But the bank which previously had been inaccessible! There was now an unbroken beach at the foot of the slope, which stretched perhaps as far as the bridge (from here the bridge was out of sight) and which, to Shears's agonized glance, seemed designed to attract the attention of any passer-by. Still, while waiting for the train, the Japs were bound to be engaged on duties which would prevent them from sauntering along the river. Shears wiped his brow.
An operation never takes place exactly according to plan. At the last moment there is always some small, trivial, sometimes grotesque, occurrence which upsets the most carefully worked-out program. Number One blamed himself, as though he was personally responsible, for his negligence in failing to foresee the fall of the river. Of all nights, it had to happen now—not one night later, nor two nights earlier!
The Bridge Over the River Kwai Page 13
