He sat down, and Walt looked at his father. Lew attempted a grin. ‘That was virtually a speech for the defence,’ he said. ‘At least up to the last sentence.’
‘It’s the last sentence that matters,’ Walt said. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I am so very sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry about, boy,’ Lew said. ‘You’re a McGann. We have always done what we knew to be right, without looking over our shoulders. I would hate to think any of us is ever going to change.’
‘Court will rise,’ said the sergeant at arms.
The officers stood up, and faced the admiral; the deliberations of the three judges had been ominously brief.
‘Having regard to the evidence presented here today,’ the admiral said. ‘This court has no option but to find Lieutenant Walter McGann guilty of mutiny as charged.’ He paused, to allow another huge sigh to waft through the wardroom. ‘However,’ he went on, ‘this court is also cognisant of the fact that, however misguided his actions, Lieutenant McGann appears to have been motivated by that spirit mentioned by his able advocate, Captain Lewis McGann, without which, this court agrees, victory over the armed forces of Japan may be impossible to achieve. It is therefore the sentence of this court that Lieutenant McGann be reduced in rank to Ensign, and that Ensign McGann will be severely reprimanded for his actions on 8 and 9 August last. This court is now dismissed.’
There was a moment’s silence, then a burst of cheering broke out. Officers hurried forward to shake Walt’s hand, caps were tossed in the air. Lew had to blow his nose; he had probably been the most apprehensive man in the room. He looked past his handkerchief and saw Waite going through the door, alone.
‘I can let myself feel sorry for him, now,’ Caldwell remarked. ‘I think I’ll need a day or two longer,’ Lew said.
*
‘That was an impressive speech you made, Lew,’ Admiral Fletcher said. ‘I should think it, more than anything, turned the tide in favour of young Walt. I have half a mind to have it printed and circulated throughout the fleet. How’s Walt taking it?’
‘Well, right now he’s still just happy not to be on his way to gaol. He recognises that that was as near to an acquittal as was possible in the circumstances. But obviously it’s a severe set back to his career. That’ll sink in soon enough.’
‘In time of war, and with a man like Walt, I don’t think the setback will be all that severe,’ Fletcher said.
‘Where are you sending him, in the first instance?’
‘He goes back to the States, to begin with. That is, after he’s received his Medal of Honour. Now that General MacArthur has been appointed to the supreme command in this theatre, he intends to make the award himself, next week. I don’t think I need to tell you that there isn’t a man in the army, or the navy, who doesn’t admire Walt for what he did. If he hadn’t hit Waite there’d have been no problem.’
‘He’s a McGann. Old Ancestor Harry wasn’t called Fighting Harry for nothing.’
‘Granted. But we simply had to condemn what he did. And I seem to remember that you survived a court martial.’
‘Runs in the family, I guess.’
‘I’m not sure it’s something you want to make a habit of. Anyway, the sentence of the court has to be ratified, of course. Don’t worry, I’m quite sure it will be; I intend to add my personal recommendation. Then he’ll probably be assigned to a new ship with a new crew.’ He grinned. ‘More important, a new skipper. But from here on, it’s up to Walt to reverse that sentence. You’d better have a word with him before he goes.’
‘I intend to.’
Fletcher nodded. ‘Today, I think, Lew. We’re putting to sea tomorrow.’
Lew raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t tell me.’
‘Yep. Our reports indicate that the Japanese Combined Fleet
is moving south to knock us out of Guadalcanal. That’s what we’ve been waiting for.’
‘Hallelujah,’ Lew said. ‘If you knew how much I want to fire a gun at someone. Yamamoto will do very nicely.’
‘I think it’s actually our old friend Nagumo again,’ Fletcher said. ‘He’ll do very nicely as well.’
*
Clive McGann hurried through the bushes and up the hill behind his look out position. He was so practised now he could slip between the trees and the thorns, negotiate the lava beds, without ever even scratching himself. This was his home; he now found it difficult to envisage any other.
It was an oddly happy home, despite everything that had happened during the eight months he had been here. Eight months! It was now 1943! And he was officially dead. It was incredible to think that the war had now been raging for more than three years, for Great Britain, and more than a year, for the United States. It was a war in which the tide was slowly turning, too, in favour of the Allies, at least in the west: the Russians had just destroyed a German army in front of Stalingrad; the British had finally defeated Rommel in North Africa; and at the other end of the continent the Americans and the British had launched a massive seaborne invasion. Had he not been lost away in this jungle, he might have been on one of the escorting warships — they were calling the Torch fleet the greatest armada in history.
But his business was here in the Pacific, where the going was much harder, the foe much tougher. He would not really have had it otherwise, because he was sharing the burden with his father and brother, and avenging his sister. He hadn’t heard much of Walt, recently, since he had received his Medal of Honour, but he had no doubt his younger brother was fighting as hard as anyone. And he had heard of Father, because Florida had been much in the news as the American and Japanese fleets had clashed in a series of hard fought battles in the waters around Guadalcanal; the Japanese had thrown in everything they had to sustain their garrison, the Americans had equally committed themselves to maintaining the marines — they also needed to avenge the disaster of Savo Island back in August.
And this they had done, although not without continuing heavy casualties. Two aircraft carriers — Hornet and Wasp — had been lost as well as more than one cruiser; two admirals had died. American battleships had engaged in gun duels with their Japanese opposite numbers, and several had been damaged, Florida amongst them. How he would have loved to be there, Clive thought; it has always been his dream to engage in a real naval battle.
The Japanese had suffered much heavier losses. Two battleships had been destroyed, at least one carrier — and another so badly damaged she would be out of action for months — and most important of all, an unsustainable ratio of planes and trained pilots.
And now at last they had admitted defeat.
Clive made his way through the trees and up to the house, heart beating pleasantly. Because at least one aspect of his happiness was the domesticity of this bi-weekly visit. It was absurd, in his circumstances, and perhaps even more in Steffi’s, and yet they existed together like the oldest of friends. Like mother and son, in fact. She had provided the female companionship he had never actually had, and had always been afraid to seek. He wasn’t sure whether he still loved her, carnally. That had been a first impression, an immediate reaction to being thrown together, so intimately, with a pretty woman. As it had never developed into reality, he supposed it had withered. Now he admired, and indeed loved her, for who she was, her quiet courage, which was greater than that of any human being he had ever known. Sexual thoughts were simply not to be considered about a woman whose body had been so savagely mistreated; he did not suppose she ever had any herself, or would again. Or about a woman whose husband was now undoubtedly dead, and probably had died in a most unpleasant manner. Besides, she was forty years old!
He crossed the lawn and vaulted on to the verandah as he always did. He looked through the jalousies and saw her arranging flowers, absently, as she always did, as though there was a great deal on her mind, and yet equally with a concentrated frown.
‘Hi!’ he said.
She turned sharply, her face closing again as it always did when she was sur
prised, and then relaxing into a smile as she saw who it was. ‘You gave me a start. I did not expect you today.’
‘I know. Steffi … ’ he entered the room, held her shoulders. ‘I have the most tremendous news.’
She frowned at him. ‘Tell me!’
‘The Japs have pulled out of Guadalcanal.’
Her mouth opened, and then closed again.
‘And the Australians are counter attacking north of Moresby. We are pushing them back, Steffi. At last, we are pushing them back.’
‘Oh, Clive,’ she said, and slid forward into his arms. He hugged her and kissed her hair without thinking. ‘How long?’ she asked. ‘How long?’
‘God knows. But it’s no longer an if, Steffi. It’s a when. And they must know that.’
‘Oh, Clive,’ she said again, and rang for Bhutto. ‘Bhutto,’ she said. ‘Is there any champagne left?’
‘I think one bottle, madam.’
‘We will open it today, Bhutto. Bring it up.’
Bhutto opened the bottle, and filled the flutes. Stefanie brushed her glass against Clive’s. ‘You will stay for lunch?’
‘I had hoped to, if asked.’
She drank some more champagne, and leaned forward to brush her glass against his again. ‘I wish you to stay to lunch,’ she said. ‘I wish us to celebrate together.’ She stared at him. ‘Without you, Clive, I should have gone mad. You know that.’
‘I … ’ he licked his lips, uneasily aware, for the first time, although it could not possibly be the first time, that she was wearing no brassiere, and her top two buttons were undone. That, however unlikely it might be to a twenty-five-year-old man, women of forty did feel like sex, even if their bodies had been savaged.
And that he did love this woman. He did not know for certain whether it was as a mother or a mistress, but that no longer mattered.
‘Will you stay, and keep me company, and celebrate?’ she asked.
Chapter 9
New Britain, New Guinea and Hawaii — 1943
Clive McGann held his binoculars to his eyes with one hand and noted down the numbers and types of the ships passing in front of him on his pad with the other; he would correlate the information for sending later.
During this past month, as the Japanese had realised they had a real battle on their hands for possession of the Solomons, and as the American-Australian counter-offensive gathered force in eastern New Guinea, they had been pouring men and material into the area. Clive had had to transmit several times, had kept reminding himself that with every transmission he was increasing the risk to both himself and Stefanie. But this was the largest troop convoy he had ever seen; there was no question but that the Allied Command had to be informed of it.
Besides, he thought, as he began tapping out the message, he was an immortal. It was an easy feeling to enjoy, alone in the jungle, perched on his clifftop like a supreme being. It was easy to correlate to his previous experiences, his survival from Prince of Wales and Exeter. And it was easiest of all to assume in the company of Stefanie.
His message sent, he continued to watch the Japanese ships steaming by, waiting, and listening, for her approach; she would probably be humming, or even singing, as she made her way through the jungle. Today was not a supply day, so she would be alone. Because for the past month she had come to see him every day, and more often than not she had been alone.
She preferred to come here. He guessed it was a combination of a good many things, a good many personal rules she was reforming in her new circumstances. She still did not know if Bill was dead, and therefore whether or not she was committing adultery — thus the crime, if it was a crime, was compounded when it took place in her marriage bed. But that was the least of the reflections which confounded her, he knew. She had told him of her married life, of the inhibitions of her youth, and of Bill’s inability to overcome them. Certainly she had managed to overcome them herself, in herself, as the years had passed; he even thought that the savage assault committed by the kempei-tai might have contributed towards the final breakdown of the mental barriers which had for so long surrounded her … while at the same time erecting others. He supposed she had wanted the touch of a man’s hand, the comfort of being held in a man’s arms, as much to reassure her that she could still feel as a woman as anything else; that the man could be so much younger than herself had made it even more important. When he had been afraid to touch where he had once nursed, she had guided him, her lips twisted in a mixture of apprehension, distaste, and desire. He had equally been afraid of hurting her, but he did not appear to do so. And yet, the inhibitions had remained. Perhaps on both their sides, perhaps because of the way it had happened, perhaps because they had both watched the moment approaching for so long, at least subconsciously.
But most of all because of the house, and the Papuans, and the plantation, the business of being Mrs van Gelderen. The business of being forty, and in bed with a man only just more than half her age. It had been illicit. When he had climaxed — because she had not — they had looked at each other like startled schoolchildren, trying to evaluate the enormity of what they had done.
He had fled. Holding Stefanie naked in his arms had been the greatest sexual moment of his life — yet he felt as if he had committed rape on his own stepmother. He had been afraid to return. Instead, she had come to him, and a new relationship had begun. Here in the jungle, alone save for the eternal trees and skies, more often than not isolated even further by the sizzling rain storms which swept across the morning, they could cease to be Lieutenant Clive McGann, Royal Navy, and Mrs William van Gelderen; they could even cease to be aware that they were at the centre of perhaps the greatest storm in history, and become what they had been created by nature, two human animals, who found pleasure in each other. Here they had discovered paradise.
It was starting to rain, now. The first drops always sounded like giant feet trampling on the leaves and trees, making them crackle, gradually getting louder and louder until the entire morning was shrouded in the drumming noise. There was no wind; the clouds seemed to hover immediately above the hut and the pounding on the corrugated iron roof was like continuous gunfire; the sheets of water brought visibility down to less than a hundred yards — the Japanese convoy might never have been there.
Clive sighed. More often than not Steffi arrived before the rain. Today the rain was early, and perhaps she would not come at all. But when he raised his head again, she was standing in the doorway.
Her hair was plastered to her head, her shirt to her body; water ran out of her sopping trousers and flowed from her canvas shoes. She hugged the canvas bag which would contain their lunch against her.
‘Oh, my darling,’ he said, getting up.
‘It is lovely rain,’ she said, and handed him the bag. Then she took off her clothes, and stepped back outside, standing with her arms held up to the clouds, allowing the warm water to slash into her hair and bounce off her skin. If, after so many years of careful prudery, she loved to be naked before him, he suspected she loved even more to be naked in the jungle, fulfilling perhaps some secret desire she had known and rejected, when she had first come to Peg Tamrau.
Clive put the bag down, picked up a towel, and stood in the doorway watching her. He thought he could watch her for the rest of his life. Partly was it pride of possession, glowing happiness that at least here she had shed her very last inhibition. Equally partly was it because Stefanie van Gelderen was a very pretty woman. Small in every way, she had a tightness about her body, at buttock and belly, in her breasts and the very hardness of her nipples, in the neatness of her pubic hair, which acted on him like an injection of adrenalin. At the same time, for all her long sojourn in the tropics, her flesh was very white, save for her arms and the vee of brown at her throat. She had never stood naked in the jungle before his coming. The glowing whiteness of the thin, strong legs was perhaps the most compelling thing about her.
She turned to face him, and he held out the towel. She came i
nside and he wrapped her in it and gently massaged her dry, while she unbuttoned his shirt to kiss his chest. Because, to his amazement, she found him as desirable to explore. What a glorious marriage could Bill van Gelderen have had, he thought — had he known how to go about it.
Steffi sat down in the single chair the hut possessed to allow him to dry her legs. He began with her toes and moved up to her thighs, and she held his face and kissed him. She had already unfastened his belt, and when he buried his face between her thighs she reached past him to slide his shorts to his knees. She lay on him on the floor, and then sat across his thighs, while he thought he might have reached up through her body to her throat. Her eyes were shut, as she rocked back and forth, searching for orgasm. And achieving it, as she often did nowadays. Then she sighed, and lay on his chest. ‘I saw ships,’ she said against his throat. ‘Just before the rain.’
‘A whole hell of a lot of ships,’ Clive agreed.
‘Did you send?’
‘Yes, Steffi. I had no choice.’
‘I know.’ She raised her head to look at him. ‘I do not mind, any more. I am not afraid any more. Even if Osawa were to come back tomorrow and cut off my head, I would not be afraid, any more. You have taught me how to live, my Clive. And once you have learned how to live, one cannot be afraid to die.’
*
‘The convoy was destroyed.’ Admiral Yamamoto held his head in his hands. ‘American aircraft, and even MTB’s, were waiting for it. Eight transports and four destroyers went down. Six thousand men were drowned. And do you know how many enemy planes were shot down?’
‘Six,’ Hashimoto said despondently.
The Passion and the Glory Page 23
