As the Sun Breaks Through

by Ellie Dean

  Jim’s heart was hammering, his hand sweating on the stock of his gun as he counted each step. The Burmese watched them from beneath their conical reed hats, but mercifully soon returned to their work. With the sun directly overhead, he and the other man cast no shadows, but the water was seeping into his boots and making squelching noises he was certain could be heard by those natives, and recognised as unusual, for they worked bare-footed.

  They’d gone four hundred yards by Jim’s reckoning when they reached a steep decline in the land that hadn’t been visible before. They both squatted down like natives and surveyed the stretch of paddy still to cross, and the ominous dark line of jungle and scrub that lay on three sides of the paddy.

  Jim could feel the sweat sheen his skin and run in rivulets over his torso. They were horribly exposed out here – sitting ducks for any Japanese patrol – or a Burman who decided to question their presence, for this disguise would fool no one on close inspection.

  He slid his finger down the stock of his carbine, releasing the safety catch, and narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun on the water in the field to try and spot any suspicious glint of metal or movement in the distant jungle. From this position he could actually make out the roofs of the Japanese HQ through the shimmering heat haze. This was utter, bloody madness, and every minute they stayed here was a minute too long.

  The RAF man leaned towards Jim and whispered, ‘You carry on, Reilly. I’ll stay here and cover you. Keep counting every step, and then make your way back to the others.’

  Jim was only too pleased to be on the move again. He waited for the other man to discreetly draw his carbine from his clothing and click off the safety catch. At his nod, Jim slowly got to his feet and eased his way down the steep five-foot drop to the continuation of the vast paddy field. He took a deep breath and began to stroll across the second paddy, his fingers gripping the stock of his carbine, ready to fire if anything came out of the jungle.

  This second half of the paddy turned out to be around another four hundred yards. Jim sighed with relief as he drifted into the long grass at the edge of the field and melted into the dense shadows of the jungle. He squatted down and waited for his heart rate to slow, all the time watching and listening for any sound or glimpse of movement.

  His eyes were stinging with his sweat, and he used the dirty longyi to scrub his face dry as he watched the RAF man strolling back the way they’d come as if he was on a Sunday walk in the park. And then, keeping in the shadows of the trees and long grass, Jim began his own cautious journey back through the surrounding jungle.

  ‘Well?’ asked the CO as soon as Jim arrived. ‘Is it long enough?’

  Jim slaked his thirst with a long drink from his canister before answering. ‘By my reckoning it’s about eight hundred yards long, and will be fine,’ he said, pausing to drain the last of the water. ‘The steep drop in the middle poses a bit of a problem. But a few bulldozers and two hundred sappers to do the groundwork should flatten it out and drain it within a couple of days. I would suggest we burn back some of that jungle. It’s too close to the wires we’ll be putting up to defend the airfield, and perfect for ambush as it stands.’

  The commanding officer nodded curtly and then looked at the RAF man. ‘Is the flying approach good enough?’ At the man’s nod, the CO looked thoughtful as he surveyed the field and the high escarpment behind him. ‘It’ll be difficult to defend, but with enough men we should be able to dominate the area. I’ll order in another brigade and some heavy artillery along with the bulldozers. Let’s get back to camp and report in to HQ.’

  ‘What about the Japs and the railway, sir?’ Jim dared to ask.

  ‘We’ll deal with them tonight,’ he replied tersely.

  An hour before dusk the CO faced the fact they would soon be mired in a big battle, so ordered the majority of the horses and mules to be evacuated under guard of a small patrol to the distant American base at Mokso Kasan. There would be no room for them in the new block, and the effect of heavy gunfire and mortars would send them berserk, making them impossible to control. As this was happening, Ernie and the mixed brigades were marching back to the appointed block that would be their HQ and airdrop site, to set up communications, dig in, and make a start on the runway.

  Jim and Big Bert left the riverside camp with a group of thirty marauders which included sappers, Gurkhas and Indian Riflemen. As the light faded they were wading through the river and up the steep hill to the viewpoint where they could see the layout of their night’s objective – the railway station and Japanese camp.

  At their senior officer’s signal they silently moved as one down the steep decline and, upon reaching the clearing, went their separate ways. All was still, and apart from the occasional glimmer of light coming from around the edges of the carelessly blacked-out windows of the mess, there was little sign of life.

  Jim and some of the other sappers split from the main group and began to lay charges round the ammunition dump, communications hut and garage workshops, whilst the rest turned their attention to the station signal box and railway lines. Moving like shadows in the darkness, the others reconnoitred the area and checked all the buildings.

  Jim raced back to join Big Bert, who’d taken up a post near what they guessed was the mess hall, for they could hear music and voices and the clatter of metal plates. He fixed the wires to the detonator and awaited the signal. ‘What’s the conclusion, Bert?’ he whispered.

  ‘Everywhere’s deserted but for the mess,’ he whispered back. ‘One guard on the northern perimeter, another to the south; both dealt with.’

  Jim nodded with some relief. He hadn’t liked the thought of killing wounded or sick men in the hospital – even if they were the enemy.

  The signal from the leading officer came at last, and Jim pushed the plunger down to detonate the charges they’d laid. And held his breath.

  There was an awful moment of silence, and then the night exploded into a series of blinding flashes and deafening booms that lit the compound as bright as day. The blast of heat rolled over the clearing, and the earth rocked beneath the marauders with the aftershocks.

  Jim and the others lay flat to withstand the blasts, deafened by the noise and rocked by the shock waves. The ammunition dump went up in a series of great booming roars, spewing flames and sending bullets zipping and whizzing in all directions as mortars thundered and the nearby trucks, jeeps and cars were blown to smithereens.

  The storehouse blew, turning sacks of rice to atoms, and tin cans into missiles. And as the fuel dump went with it, there was a massive explosion and a belch of black smoke and orange flames which were fed by the petrol fumes. Burning fuel cans spun in the air, some landing on the roofs of the thatched huts or in the dry grass at the edge of the jungle, setting it all ablaze. Birds rose in panic from the trees to swirl amid the pall of black smoke that was now rising into the night sky.

  This cacophony of destruction was swiftly followed by the railway signal box, the warehouses, and about three hundred yards of rail being thrown several hundred feet into the air as if they weighed nothing.

  Jim exchanged delighted grins with Big Bert as they hugged the ground and waited for the explosions to die down. This was better than any Bonfire Night.

  As the explosions stuttered to a halt and the mess hall began to burn, the Japanese poured out into the glare of the many fires. The marauders made short work of them, and after searching through the other buildings for anyone that might have escaped, they set fire to them and left them to burn. There would be reprisals, no doubt, for the conflagration could probably be seen from miles away and any Japanese in the area would soon be on their way.

  By Jim’s reckoning, they had about forty-eight hours to get the paddy flattened into an airfield so the C-47s could bring in the heavy machinery, artillery and fresh men. If it took longer, then they’d be trapped and have to fight their way out.

  8

  Doris had powdered her nose and repaired her lipstick
before setting off again, but it had still taken an enormous effort of will to climb out of the car and follow the last few stragglers into the private chapel on the Chumleys’ estate.

  The heavy door creaked horribly as she closed it behind her, and she became all too aware of the turning heads and glaring eyes as she quickly slid into a rear pew. This was really the last place she wanted to be today. She’d hoped for some sort of welcoming smile from the women she’d worked alongside for so many years, but it seemed the occasion was too solemn for smiles, and her late arrival had not eased the chilly mood. She sat through the interminable service, listening to the fulsome eulogies for the women who’d been killed on that awful day – the guilt at having survived becoming harder to bear by the minute.

  And then it was over at last, and as the chief mourners came down the aisle, she tried to catch their eyes to convey her sympathy, but they were too wrapped up in their own misery to notice. Doris followed them outside to discover they were already huddled beneath umbrellas and hurrying towards the manor house. ‘Such a shame the weather is so awful,’ she said to the woman standing next to her as she unfurled her own umbrella.

  Cold blue eyes regarded her, and without a word the other woman strode away.

  Doris frowned, for she’d always considered Lucinda Franklin to be a friend. Perhaps it was her own frail state that was making her feel uncomfortable, and she’d just imagined the hostility?

  The manor house was warm and welcoming after the walk through the dreary rain and wind, and Doris quickly stowed her umbrella, tidied her hair and went into the vast drawing room where drinks were being served. The mood had lightened amongst the mourners, but as she approached one little group after another, she found their backs turned to her and heard sly comments and sniggers. It seemed she was being shunned – that her presence here was far from welcome – and she struggled to understand why.

  ‘I must say,’ said a plummy voice nearby, ‘some people have a frightful nerve, haven’t they? I mean, it isn’t as if she’s one of us, is she?’ Grey eyes slid to Doris momentarily.

  ‘Ghastly woman,’ came the reply. ‘And when I think of how much Lady Chumley did for her over the years …’ There was a ripple of agreement from the circle of women, and sharp, hostile gazes darted over Doris before moving away. ‘Still,’ said another, ‘she can be quite useful when it comes to running about for us, but turning up here today is really beyond the pale. One would have thought she’d have known she wouldn’t be welcome.’

  Doris stood isolated in that room full of chattering, catty women feeling horribly vulnerable as she listened to their scorn and felt their enmity. She wondered why on earth she’d ever believed she could be a part of this vicious circle who seemed to delight in denigrating those they saw as beneath them.

  To her distress, she discovered her hand was shaking as she put the glass of sherry on a nearby table and tried to muster up the courage to walk through the gathering with dignity and leave them to it. She’d taken a few steps towards the door when Lord Chumley stepped into her path and took her hand.

  ‘Thank you very much for coming today, Mrs Williams,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘How are you coping at Beach View? Not too much of a wrench after losing your own home, I hope?’

  Doris was so grateful to him for talking to her that her pent-up emotions were unleashed in a great rush of noisy tears. Unable to reply to him, she took flight, pushing her way through the crush to retrieve her umbrella and fur coat and find sanctuary in her car.

  She had no idea of how long she sat there watching the rain come down and the sky darken, but eventually she dried her tears, and took a long, hard look at what today had taught her. What Lord Chumley must have thought of her running off like that, she didn’t know or really care any more – and as for all those painted, bejewelled and scented cats, how they must be sniggering into their furs. And well they might, for she’d certainly given them enough fuel to stoke their gossip today.

  To her surprise, Doris found she didn’t actually care. She decided to put the whole humiliating episode firmly to the back of her mind, and concentrate on what really mattered to her. She would go and see her solicitor to inform him about Ted’s death, and ask his advice about what to do with regards to a burial service.

  It was five in the afternoon when Doris parked the car outside Beach View, switched off the engine and tried to come to terms with what had turned out to be the worst day of her life.

  Through the drizzling rain, she regarded the rubble at the end of the cul-de-sac and the shabby Victorian villas that had survived the gas explosion, but not the Luftwaffe’s bullets. Many of the windows had been boarded over, the paint was peeling on the doors and window frames and there hadn’t been a brush of whitewash on the front steps since war had been declared. Like her mood, it was all desperately depressing, and she found she couldn’t summon up the energy to get out of the car.

  Not yet ready to face the inevitable questions from whoever might be at home, Doris lit a cigarette and tried to instil some sort of optimism into her dispirited and weary self – but it was no good.

  The afternoon had finally opened her eyes and made her see with shaming clarity that Peggy had been right all along. She didn’t fit in with that crowd, had never really been a part of that well-to-do, smug circle which had kept her at arm’s length for years and laughed about her behind her back. She’d tried so hard to be part of that clique; willing to do the tasks they found distasteful and, like a fool, running about after them in the hope that one day they would accept her.

  Doris took a tremulous breath. She should have listened to Peggy and learnt the lessons of the past, for this afternoon had been utterly humiliating. And to compound it all, she’d been faced with shocking revelations which had come out of the blue and rocked her to the very core. She eyed the papers on the passenger seat and shivered. Looking determinedly away, she regarded Beach View with a fondness that surprised her. Shabby and run-down it might be, but it was the house where she and her two sisters had been born and raised by loving parents who’d probably had their own dreams, but who’d had to work long, hard hours for everything they’d achieved.

  This was the home she’d left for a job in London and her own dreams of becoming someone she realised now she was never meant to be. What a fool she’d been to believe she was any better than her sisters – and what harsh lessons she’d had to learn along the way – for here she was, back where she’d started. Only now, she barely had more than the clothes on her back, and was staring into a very bleak future. The terror of what might happen to her was a living thing squirming inside her and she felt quite sick. The cushion of hope that her situation was merely temporary had been swept away, and for the first time in her life she felt vulnerable and horribly afraid.

  Doris looked down at the papers and a wave of anger consumed her. She wouldn’t give in to this awful fear – she was strong and capable and this latest blow would not defeat her. She gathered the papers and stuffed them in her leather handbag. She would say nothing of what had happened today until she could be alone with Peggy. Dear, sweet Peggy who’d had to put up with so much from her over the years, and yet never seemed to bear a grudge. She would understand and be there to help her through the next few months, she was certain.

  Doris gave a wry smile as she touched her cheek, which was still quite tender from that slap. Peggy could certainly pack a wallop when roused – and Doris acknowledged that she’d had a perfect right to do so after her appalling behaviour. What sort of woman had she become? And what on earth had possessed her to be so high-handed and mean after Peggy had been so generous and loving – so grateful she hadn’t been killed?

  Doris let out a long breath before climbing out of the car. This day was thankfully almost over, but from now on she would do her utmost to make things up to Peggy and learn to be satisfied with her lot. After all, she reasoned, she had her health, her mink and her diamond ring as well as a fairly healthy chunk of the divorce settle
ment, and she was still young enough to seek useful employment and join in the war effort – though not on a factory floor. She’d rather go without than bear that humiliation.

  Doris locked the car, gave the roof an affectionate pat and went up the steps to the front door. She would ask Ron to help her find somewhere to store it for the duration now she could no longer afford to run it.

  Fred dropped Peggy off by the twitten as usual and she hurried through the greyness of early evening to the back door. Stepping into the scullery, she shook the damp from her headscarf and raincoat, smiling at the sound of happy voices up in the kitchen.

  She climbed the steps and entered the lovely warmth of the heart of her home, delighted to see Cordelia ensconced in her usual fireside chair, her tangled knitting abandoned in her lap as Sarah handed her a cup of tea.

  ‘Hello, Cordy,’ said Peggy, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. ‘How lovely to see you downstairs again – and looking so much better too.’

  ‘I’m feeling almost the full ticket now, dear. Another day and I shall be able to go out for some fresh air.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see how you are tomorrow,’ murmured Peggy, nodding her thanks to Sarah for the welcome cup of tea. ‘You don’t want to rush things and make yourself ill again.’

  Cordelia clucked her tongue. ‘Bertie promised to take me out to lunch at the Officers’ Club on Saturday, and I’m not missing out on that,’ she said firmly. She sipped her tea and then looked at Peggy over her half-moon glasses, her blue eyes twinkling. ‘We’ve all got lots to tell you, Peggy.’

  Peggy grinned, relieved that Cordelia was almost her old self again. ‘I’m all ears,’ she replied. ‘But I’ll have my supper whilst I listen, if you don’t mind.’

  Cordelia nodded to Sarah. ‘You first.’

  Sarah placed Peggy’s plate of supper on the table and sat down beside her. ‘I’ve just finished my last day with the WTC,’ she said. ‘Everyone is moving out tomorrow for Scotland, and the manor house and WTC buildings will be taken over by the Red Cross to treat some of the wounded that are coming back from France. The local hospitals can’t cope, you see, but the walking wounded can recuperate in comfort there.’